City of Secrets
by PriceX3Jayme
Summary: This is City of Bones, except in Jace's POV. Sort of like Midnight Sun for Twilight :D I hope you enjoy it. It took me a lot of work just writing the first chapter.
1. Prologue

"Jace! By the Angel, you coming or not?"

Jace looked over himself for the third time. He had on a black long-sleeved shirt, a pair of low-rise jeans, and leather boots. He reached down for his belt, his fingers edged toward his seraph blade, and they slowly grazed along his _naginata._ Earlier, he had traced on some protection runes on his arms and shoulders. The markings were so familiar, like Braille, engraved upon his blade. In the mirror, he caught a glance of his light blond hair that dangled above his broad shoulders. His pupils were like golden discs amid his pearly irises.

Among those features, deep down, he saw his father. The same sandy fair-headedness, a distinct amount of scars around the eyes and chin, high cheekbones, and long lashes. Jace clenched down on his teeth, his jaw tautened, and he forced himself to look away from the mirror.

His bed was made, and the room was in good order other than the few loose articles of clothing on the floor and hanging from the bathroom door. His favorite jacket was lain out across the pale white bedsheets. Jace strided across the room to grab it off of his mattress and slipped it on. He felt for the witchlight rune-stone his dad gave him for his twelfth birthday, coming across a small protruding bulge in his left pocket.

"Jace!"

Irritation swelled up inside him. "All right! Keep your glamorous hair on!" he snapped, and he moved swiftly out of his room with a small click of the door. Jace stepped into the long corridor, dim, empty, and always obscured by heavy shadows. He reached the elevator at the end; Isabelle stood watching him, while Alec absentmindedly tossed a _guisarme_ in the air.

"Ready to go?" Jace said.

"For a while now," said Isabelle with a growl. Jace saw that she wore a long white gown with embroidered sleeves to cover her scars, the skirt of her dress drifted behind her like a stream of water. She wore boots, too, but thigh-high, and a red amulet hung down from her neck. Her ebon elongated hair dangled like silk against her slim figure. Isabelle's eyes, small but sturdy, were like her brother's. He wore the same black shirt with navy blue sneakers. Alec, unlike his sister, was muscular; he had dark hair with blue eyes, and was equally as gorgeous as Isabelle.

Alec wrenched the elevator door open. It gave off a high shriek in protest, then gave up, and it slid open. They filed in and shut the gate behind them. Jace punched the floor button; there was a small jerk, and it started downward. The elevator was as old as the Institute; they've been around for many Shadowhunter generations. Its walls were starting to crumble, paintings that hung on the walls were fading, and the foyer was gathering up dust. From outside, if you could see past all the glamour, it was apparent the Institute was aging.

"Where's your whip, Isabelle?" Jace asked.

"Around my thigh. So no one can see it," she said with a smirk. Jace snorted, and she scowled. "Where's _your _weapon, then, Jace," she said disdainfully. He extended his arm for the blade hidden underneath the flap of his jacket and waved the blade in her face. She rolled her eyes, and he pocketed it where his witchlight was. "If I were you, I'd leave the belt. It'd give us away if the Downworlder saw you with it. I have weapons you can use."

Jace shrugged. "Fine. But you better not let me catch you take them out from under your skirt."

"Have you ever heard the term, 'thigh sheath', before?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the final lurch as the elevator landed, and the doors opened with a groan.

Alec unlatched the gate, and said, "Come on, you two. It's time." Jace was surprised at the seriousness of his tone. Maybe he was nervous, the reason that he was so quiet. Jace was never nervous, not ever since his father taught him not to show it.

The foyer, as he remembered, was layered in dust and footsteps were imprinted upon it. Every piece of furniture was blanketed with ghostly tablecloths, making the room look abandoned and haunted. The portraits along the wall were dilapidated and weary; pictures of significant men and women made him shiver, feeling their gaze follow his every movement. "Where's Hodge? Does he know we're leaving?"

"I informed him, yes. The last I saw of him was in the greenhouse," Isabelle replied. Jace sighed. _Poor Hodge_, he thought. _Ever since that curse was enforced upon him, the greenhouse was the only thing he had left of the outside world. _No one talked until they were all outside. It was dark, starless; the streetlights weren't ignited yet, even if it was programmed to turn on around dawn.

Jace hugged himself tightly; his breath came out as thick mist. You might've thought it was unnatural to see three people walking at the side of the road dressed in black and white, armed with knives and daggers. But if you cruised down this road, you saw many others, red-haired, blue-haired, adorned in rags and glitter and jumpsuits for costumes. Everyone carried props like plastic wands, rubber stakes, and even crystal balls made of Styrofoam and glitter. And they all were headed for Pandemonium, the new all-ages club that opened up a few blocks away.

The three of them turned onto a parking lot, unsurprisingly full, and made out a small building several yards away. It was made of worn out brick and cement, spruced up with a variety of fluorescent lights, and flashy neon signs. A line formed along the entrance and followed itself around the back of the structure. There was a bouncer that blocked the club entrance, the red velvet rope in his hand, staring a blue-haired boy, around sixteen, down with disbelief.

The three unseen teenagers eased their way through the door, wedging themselves between the angry bouncer and the doorframe. They were in.

**I'll try my best to update as soon as I can :) I, myself, love this chapter, and I hope you guys do, too. And I'm begging, plz comment. I want to know what you think so I can fix it up in my next chapter. I'm serious, I'll listen. Just tell me. Tell your friends to do the same. I just need to know.**

** -Jenna, 14**


	2. Pandemonium

The instant Jace stepped through the entrance's threshold; Pandemonium's trance music pulsed with the thick air, making his heart contract. It was dark; light came from the dance floor, flashing in between moving feet and clads of mini skirt leather and denim. People were laughing, drinking, flirting. Jace even saw a young drunk couple by the bar making out; the girl lost grip of her glass and the bartender grew indignant.

The club gave the illusion that you were floating on top of a cloud: the smoke, the stringed lights streamed across the roof banisters like twinkling stars.

Isabelle, Alec and Jace strolled off to the side, sat at one of the small metal tables and observed the dancers whose energy radiated off of their sweaty bodies.

A flash of electric blue caught Jace's eye and he saw, wearing a red jacket, the boy who had been at the front of the line when they came in. The boy smirked as he broke away from the swaying crowd and leaned against the bar counter. The bartender glanced up, waiting for the boy to order a drink, and later turned away angrily to clean up the broken glass. There was a blinding flash from the disco lights, which brought Jace's gaze to the glimmering stake in the boy's hand.

Then he saw it. Jace frowned as the blade changed in front of his eyes. A moment ago, it looked harmless with its dull, innocent shine. Now, as he focused his gaze on it, it seemed to have a threatening gleam. In a single second, a piece of foam rubber became a dangerous weapon.

Jace nudged Isabelle with his elbow and indicated the boy. "Glamour, see? His stake..." He cut off when he noticed Isabelle studying the boy's face.

"So are his eyes. It's how he got in." Jace, with his eyebrows raised, looked over to make ascertain of it. And, as Isabelle said, they did have a certain glamour over them. The boy's eyes were a green too bright to be a natural color. Isabelle rubbed at her mascara, the powder smudging her cheekbones, making her look like she was sweating, or that she had cried. Jace knew instantly what she was planning.

"Follow my lead." And without another word, she stalked off onto the dance floor, her skirt flapping behind her.

Isabelle had to be careful as to not brush against any of the dancers. She was aware that no one could see her, and that the mundanes would be deeply suspicious if one of them hit a force they couldn't see.

"Come on," Jace said to Alec, pulling him by the elbow. He thought he felt Alec flinch, but decided he only imagined it. They hid behind the counter, waiting. Jace had to hold back a chuckle, or a look of disgust, when the Downworlder looked as if he was about to drool. Unfortunately, as he straightened up and walked over after Isabelle had disappeared into the closet, he couldn't restrain laughing when the drunken girl who had dropped the glass earlier looked at the boy like he was deluded. He held back when the blue-haired boy glanced around to make sure no one was following him, then slipped in after Isabelle. Jace shook his head disapprovingly.

He caught the door before it could close and and crept in, Alec on his heels. It was only when the door quietly shut behind them that the storage room was flooded with darkness. The closet was carelessly lit, and dust lingered in the air. Jace looked for windows and failed. The floors were decorated with recycled party streamers and live cords and wires. Steel shelves lined the walls, paint cans stacked on each row. The smell of wretch and rot was everywhere. Demon. Jace wrinkled his nose.

Isabelle and the boy were making conversation. He quickly darted for the darker shadows of a long, firm pillar and adjusted his ears so that he could hear the best he could.

"...seen you here before." The demon had the kind of pretty voice humans would be addicted to. Jace, being near one almost every day, could hear the raspiness.

Isabelle giggled. "You're asking me if I come here often?" There was silence, then. It seemed so long, Jace prepared to step out from behind the concrete pillar. The boy spoke up, and Jace stopped midway of a squat and a stand.

"You-" There was a thunderous snap and a flash of gold. He could see Isabelle's long black hair swing around her shoulders; the demon staggered backwards, clutching his chest. He, with another flick of Isabelle's wrist, was suddenly lurched off his feet and hit the ground with a repulsive thud. Like slapping raw meat on a kitchen counter.

Isabelle stood over him, laughing as she saw his shocked expression. Shocked at Isabelle's new strength, or the humility of not knowing she was a Shadowhunter. Jace didn't know.

She coiled her whip around her wrist. "He's all yours, boys."

The tone of her voice made Jace laugh; low, hearty. He treaded toward the body on the floor and, with the help of Alec, threw him against a hard pillar. The demon scowled, but didn't move. Alec leashed his wrists with sharp wire, the boy writhing, and met his eyes.

"So, are there any more with you?"

Jace caught a twinkle in the blue-haired boy's eyes and so he knew the boy would not answer.

"Any other what?" the boy said. Jace chuckled under his breath at his attempt of concealment.

"Come on now. You know what I am." He showed the demon the back of his hands, and pulled back his sleeves, revealing a labyrinth of ancient-looking marks that, to Jace, was so familiar.

The demon clenched his teeth, the veins from his temple bulging out. "_Shadowhunter,"_ he said poisonously. Jace almost gagged at the sudden odor of decay, but caught himself, instead grinned.

"Got you."

Jace found himself pacing from the east wall over to the storage door. Isabelle stood near the boy, staring and observing, her seraph blade tight in her fist. Alec stood not far behind her, close enough to lay a hand on her shoulder. Jace thought she needed that. Her shoulders were tense, she clenched down on her jaw hard. Behavior opposite from her brother's, who stood as if nothing was happening. But his eyes still read caution and safety.

"So," he said, after a while. "You still haven't told me if there were any more of your kind with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the demon replied sourly.

"He means other demons."

Jace moved his gaze to where Alec was. It had been the first time he spoke up since they set foot in the storage room. Now, Alec's jaw was set and his arms crossed over his chest, making him look older and more mature with years of training.

"You do know what a demon is, don't you?" he said.

The boy turned away.

"Demons," Jace enunciated. "Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension-"

"That's enough, Jace," Isabelle snapped.

"Isabelle's right," Alec said more calmly than the way her sister had spoken. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics." Alec paused. "Or demonology."

It should've made Jace redden, or cower away. The way they had said it could have made anyone other than he shut up. But they, and he, all knew that that wouldn't happen. Jace just smiled and turned his head over to the boy, curled away in the corner.

"Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much," he said, more jokingly than formidably. "Do you think I talk too much?"

The demon's mouth tightened. "I could give you information. I know where Valentine is."

Jace glanced back at Alec, who shrugged. Valentine, one of the Nephilim who had fought against the Clave, willing to do anything to bring it down, had disappeared years ago. It had been so long ago, Shadowhunters all over the world began to assure themselves that he was dead, vanished. Disappeared among the depths of the earth.

"Valentine's in the ground. The thing's just toying with us," Jace said acidly.

Isabelle shrugged, her hair falling back. "Kill it, Jace," she said permissively. "It's not going to tell us anything."

Jace, gladly, raised the ruby-hilted blade in his hand. He could see the light of the crystal blade reflect off of the boy's eyes, filled with fear and-

The demon gasped abruptly, interrupting Jace's thoughts. "Valentine is back!" he cried, struggling hopelessly against the tightly-bound cable. "All the Infernal Worlds know it. I know it. I can tell you where he is!"

Jace growled, his nose flared. "By the Angel, every time we capture one of you bastards," he said, "you claim you know where Valentine is." He felt the blade, solid in his grip, and raised it. "Well you can join him there," he said with as much affrontation he could manage, making the demon give out a silent cry.

Then someone stepped out from the shadows, where he and Alec had hid themselves from the demon. A girl, with bright red hair and a slim figure, stood before them, a horrified expression on her face. Jace spun around to face her and couldn't help gasping quietly. His seraph blade slipped from his hand, sliding across the cracked floor, but he didn't bend to pick it up. Jace was looking at the girl.

She had narrow hips and long legs. Jace saw the line of freckles lining the bridge of her nose, but not too much to be easily noticed.

Alec and Isabelle turned their heads to face the girl along with him, the same astounded and interested countenance on their faces. The demon boy stared, his mouth open.

"What's this?" Alec said, looking at Jace.

Jace kept from rolling his eyes, a sign of his recovery from the shock. "It's a girl. Surely you've seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one." Alec kept a blank expression, staring not at Jace but at the red-haired girl. A mundane? He moved nearer her, observing her skin; her slim legs and arms had no trace of runic markings or scars.

"A mundie girl," he said, mostly to himself. Mundanes-the humans-shouldn't be able to see them, not unless they know we're here. No part in Nephilim ancestry had there been one human strong enough to possess the Sight, the ability to see the other world around them that no other knows about. Evidently, the mundane saw not through them but directly at them. In fact, he thought that she might be looking at his eyes...

"And she can see us," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I can see you. I'm not blind, you know."

Jace realized that what he said might have sounded stupid. He acknowledged the way he squinted at her, looked at her arms and legs, then saying aloud that she was able to see the Shadowhunter world. It was as stupid as waving a hand in front of her eyes, asking her if she was aware that he was doing it. He mentally waved off the brief humility.

He scrambled for his blade, searching for a reply, anything that would convince the girl that what they were was a concoction of her imagination, and that she was not really seeing it. It didn't have to be true, or make sense. Jace rehearsed his reply over and over again so much, that he began to believe that the mundane really didn't see them. Maybe she was just drunk like the rest of the clubbers at Pandemonium.

"Oh, but you are." Jace found his knife near a pile of rusted paintbrushes under a shelf and stooped to pick it up. "You just don't know it. You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you." It was hard to admit, since all Jace wanted was for her to stay. It was rare to find a weak human who was able to see the Shadowhunter world; especially a human girl. He didn't mind if she stayed to see his friends and he do their abiddance.

"I'm not going anywhere. If I do, you'll kill him." She looked over at the blue-haired demon tied to the pillar; who was now, Jace saw, wrestling with the wires at his wrists, but still looked at him and the mundane with clear fascination. Jace smiled. The mundane thought the boy with the bright hair is the good guy; the innocent pedestrian who happened to come across three murderous teenagers.

The irony.

"That's true," he said, turning the hilted dagger in his hand. "What do you care if I kill him or not?"

The girl's eyes widened. Sputtering, she said, "Because! You can't just go around killing people!" Jace admitted, he loved the various expressions mundanes made; shock, fear, confusion, earnesty, desolation. The Shadowhunters he knew and saw either had on the face of determination or disgust. Others smiled or laughed, like Alec, Isabelle, and he does.

"You're right. You can't go around killing _people_," he reverberated. He gestured at the demon, the girl following his gaze. "That's not a person, little girl. It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's a monster."

"Jace, that's enough," Isabelle said again.

"You're crazy," the red-haired girl said. She backed away towards the door. "I've called the police, you know. They'll be here any second."

There was no reaction that came from Jace, but from behind him, he heard Alec suck in a breath. He turned from the mundane girl to look at his friend. "She's lying," Alec said. "Jace, do you-"

A loud shriek pierced the air, interrupting Alec. Jace felt the floors move a little as the blue-haired boy pulled away from the pillar and lunge toward Jace. He collided with the demon head-on and struck the hard floor; his breath gone for a moment. He battled with the demon, rolling around the ground as Isabelle shrieked behind him. The boy clawed at his chest, tearing the front of his shirt open slightly. He held his arm up to defend himself against another blow; pain shot up his arm. Then the demon shrieked and was gone, the weight lifted away with him. Jace quickly got back up on his feet, and dug the seraph blade that had been in his hand into the boy's front.

Blood as black as the night gurgled onto the floor and onto Jace's blade, the crystal now stained with thick liquid. The demon created an arch with his back, lurching and wrenching on the floor. Jace pulled his blade back, creating a heavier blackish- red downpour of blood.

He straightened up, cringing as another round of pain traveled up his arm and ankle. There were a few blacker stains in his already-black shirt, and his boots were covered in blood. Isabelle coiled her whip around her wrist, looking at Jace with concern.

"So be it! The Forsaken will take you all," the demon hissed. Then Jace saw with a scowl that the demon collapsed onto itself like a dead tree branch, his skin growing drier and prunish, and disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Alec walked toward him, surveying Jace's injury. "It's a demon-inflicted wound. An _iratze_ won't help." He released his arm with an apologetic look.

A crack sounded from behind Jace and he whirled around. Isabelle stood blocking the door, her whip wrapped around the red-haired girl's wrist. Jace realized that she was still here; he was distracted by the attack and forgot. By the look of it, the mundane attempted to run away. Her face twisted into a look of pain while Isabelle's was an uncivilized visage. The situation was fierce; Jace felt sorry for the mundane girl.

"Stupid little mundie," Isabelle said harshly. "You could've gotten Jace killed."

"He's crazy. You're all crazy," she replied with the same cold tone. "What do you think you are, vigilant killers? The police-"

"The police aren't usually interested unless you can produce a body." Jace walked over supporting his arm against his chest, Alec behind him. "Either the one of the victim, or the killer." He watched as the mundie glanced behind him, her eyes broaden when she saw the boy was no longer there. Not a speck of blood or tear of clothing.

"They return to their home dimensions when they die. In case you were wondering," he explained.

"Jace, be careful," said Alec as the mundie shook her head slowly.

"She can see us, Alec," Jace said, matter-of-factly. "She already knows too much."

"So what do you want me to do with her?" Isabelle's hand still gripped her whip tightly.

"Let her go," he replied.

Izzy gave him a look of surprise, her features motionless on her face. Then her expression became angry, and she reluctantly freed the girl. Jace caught a glimpse of the thin red line on the mundie's wrist before it was covered by her other hand. He considered her closely. Her bright red hair hung down around her shoulders in long curls, she looked pale against the dim lighting of the storage closet; she had on a sallow blue tanktop, jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a jacket. Her high cheekbones were displayed just below two bright green eyes. These were unlike the demon's, for the demon's were a brighter shade and filled with glamour and hate, while hers were a softer hue, green and as radiant as jades. She eyed the closet door, as if planning on how to throw it open and run out fast enough...

Jace winced again at the soreness in his forearm.

"Maybe we should bring her back with us. I bet Hodge would like to talk to her," Alec said, making him look up. Maybe they could. Hodge could study her, ask the mundie questions of her past. With Hodge, it would be found out in less than a week.

Before he could answer, Isabelle said, "No way are we bringing her to the Institute. She's a mundie," she said, as if that explained everything.

Jace meant to speak abruptly. Why couldn't Isabelle see that there was something different about this mundane girl? He found it unusual that she could see past all the glamour without having to be explained, taught, or persuaded that their world existed. She shouldn't even be able to see their seraph blades. But what he said came out gently, to his surprise.

"Or is she?"

Jace couldn't comprehend this. Another way for a mundane is if they had some sort of past interaction, or a heritage of Shadowhunters. If so, she would be one, she just didn't know it.

"Have you had dealings with demons, little girl?" Jace questioned. "Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you-"

She interrupted him, Jace was shocked, not with a question, but a firm obduration. "My name is not 'little girl'," she protested. He raised an eyebrow. "And I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't believe in-in demons, or whatever you-

The door flew open behind her, and in walked another mundie-a boy-and behind him stood the bouncer that had been standing by the entrance. The girl whipped her head around. Alec, Isabelle, and Jace didn't move-not because of pure instinct, but because they knew they would not be seen. Because of disconcern.

"Clary?" the boy spoke.

So the mundie's name was Clary, Jace thought.

"Are you okay?" He looked straight at where Isabelle stood, grazing over Alec, and lingering on Jace. "Why are you in here by yourself? What happened to guys-you know, the ones with the knives?" Jace smiled at the boy's unseeingness.

The girl-Clary-looked back, her eyes locked with Jace's. He sucked in a breath; he didn't see any sign of shock or humiliation in them, nor confusion or horror. Acceptance. She turned back to her friend.

"I thought they went in here. But, I guess they didn't." The boy's expression remained concerned, while the bouncer's bored countenance altered to an irritated ambiance. "I'm sorry. It was a mistake."

Isabelle giggled.

The stars were diamonds against the boundless sky. The streetlamps were ignited now, and it cast deep shadows all over the sidewalk. There was an occassional roar of a passing car, or the boom of distant music. Jace stared up at the sky as he walked; he didn't mind not knowing where he was walking. It wouldn't hurt much if a car hit him, or if he tripped over the curb. Not as much as his arm was stinging and his legs were sore. Alec and Isabelle strolled in front, conversing about something they forbid Jace to hear. He told them to go ahead, not wanting to delay their fast walk with his limp. His ankle still killed him.

With how much time he had, his mind wandered back to Pandemonium, in the storage room. The demon, face contorted, teeth sharp, black blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. Alec and his warrior stance, his primitive sister backing him up with firm grasp on her lightning whip. Then, the mundane. Clary, her name was. She saw us, like he told himself so many times after she left. It was impossible. And even if a girl like Clary could see them, one would run away, frightened, ready to fall asleep and wake up thinking it was all a dream. What he saw on her face, though, was nothing like it. She didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to believe it was all a dream. Like somewhere, far far back into her memories, was their world.

Where faeries roamed the parks, hidden underneath the tree roots and beyond the branches of an oak. Where vampires wandered at night, just outside your window, or hidden in the shadows of a building. Where warlocks lived among humankind, disguised, causing the supernatural occurrences humans have no answers for. Werewolves, hunting off living beings one by one.

And then there was they. Shadowhunters, Nephilim, whose purposes were to rid the world of these creatures. Shadowhunters were born warriors and never had a life that wasn't action-packed. Sure, they didn't have the resistance of a vampire, nor the speed of a werewolf; not the immortality of a faerie or the powers of a warlock. But they had the strength and sinew of the Archangels, who adorned their establishment with markings on their skin to provide them strength, silence, healing, and speed.

And that was all they needed.

**Again, plz plz plz plz plz comment :) i'd luv to get 10 new comments before I update another chapter. That's my goal. I hope to update next weekend. I promise I'll have everything on there from the retrieve of Clary from Java Jones to the attack of her home and mother. Thx for your comments, you guys. It's really moving me forward :D you're the best!**


	3. Secrets and Lies

Jace saw the morning blaze before he opened his eyes. Squinting against the direct light, he processed the open window and thin drapes that allowed the harsh illumination to flood the room. Everything in his room appeared more untainted than it had been the night before, when it displayed a more sinister aspect. The carpet looked unstained, his wardrobe finely carved, and even Jace's white bedsheets looked fresh. Dust traveled in rows along the sun's ray.

Jace untangled his legs from the blanket and staggered over to the bathroom. He could feel the blood rush back into his legs, waking them from their long slumber. He waited for the steam to flood the small room and stepped in, inhaling humid air. With the minutes to spare, Jace thought about last night.

Isabelle, Alec and he found Hodge still awake, waiting for them to arrive back. Jace told him everything from the demon's appearance, to the discovery of the Seeing Mundane-Clary, and her friend, Simon. Hodge, being Hodge, was exceptionally inquisitive; Jace was asked a myriad of questions before he yielded response and, with regret, informed Hodge that he was to retire.

Like every night ever since it was given to him, Jace had took out his ring-the ring given to him by his father. Sleep overwhelmed him as he scrutinized the engravings. The day had been exhausting, and it took him less than it was usual for him to fall asleep. But one thing remained the same; he still slept each night with the last of his conscious thoughts lingering in his mind. The sandy blond hair, and the black, bottomless eyes. His sharp jaw traced along the side of his hard face, and ended at the point of his ears. Jace remembered the accent of his temples, and that when he was angry, the dents of his cheeks as he bit down on them.

"Jace, you're hogging the shower. Again, might I add. And please tell me you haven't used up all the shampoo." Isabelle, not having been there before, leaned placidly on the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest and one leg crossed over the other. She still had on her soft pink robe and fluffy slippers.

Jace's eyes widened. His hands bolted for the shower knob, preparing to pull it and turn the shower off, when Isabelle spoke again.

"Relax. I'm just kidding."

"Isabelle, don't you have your own bathroom?," Jace said, shooting her a glare.

She rolled her eyes. "I said I was kidding. Did you hear me?" Isabelle made her way to the bathroom sink and lifted herself up to sit down. She regarded Jace with amusement, apparently finding humor in her joke. "Hodge sent me over to get you. He says he wants to meet with you. With all of us."

Jace hesitated inside the stall. He just finished with his shower and had turned the water off. But his towel still hung on the rack outside. "Come back tomorrow—when I'm not stark naked."

"You make me glad my room's all the way down the hall from yours." With that, she was gone. Jace stepped out of the shower, still dripping water, and wrapped his towel around his waist while gazing at the mirror. He wondered what Hodge would want with them. He had organized these meetings before whenever he was upset or if he developed up another demon strategy. Jace found no reason for any of them. There could only be one thing and he was almost positive it involved the mundane.

An image of the girl flashed through his mind. He caught her hair, which shone out like a red flame in a black and white photograph, her eyes, like two twinkling stars in a starless sky, and the structure of her face which gave a refined, petite impression. Jace couldn't help smiling at the memory of her discovery in finding out that they were not what she thought they were. He wasn't amused, for once, at someone else's cluelessness, but he was impressed-surprised, even-at her calm reaction and strong secludedness.

Jace dressed in his Shadowhunter gear-a pale gray tee, jeans, boots, and his weapons belt-and left his room in its state. Neat, but articles of clothing strewn all over the floors, and bed made. He found Hodge in the library, seated at his desk. Isabelle and Alec were sprawled on the couch opposite from it. Jace made his way to the faded red loveseat in the corner and slumped into its cushions.

The library is like what you could imagine it would look like. It had an arched ceiling with banisters cutting through the middle to meet both sides. Along all four walls were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked high with ancient textbooks and novels. Smaller books were shoved into holes and inside other bigger novels after all the space had been used up. Light from one window cast itself upon the hardwood floor which had, near the edges of each floorboard, protection ward etchings. He stared at Hodge's desk, the area around it lay strewn pieces of paper. Carved angels supported its base; their faces distorted in distress, so badly wanting to escape the burden. Jace couldn't help comparing how they felt to the feeling he's always hidden inside him.

"Now that you're here, Jace," Hodge began, "we can all begin." He said the statement in more of a question than an utterance of the obvious. Jace nodded, looking up from the grieving angels. "Good."

But there followed a long pause as the three teenagers waited for their guardian to speak, and every second that passed a little piece of anxiety grew in their stomachs.

After a while, however, Isabelle finally spoke up. "Is this about last night? At the restaurant? Because I assure you, Jace in no way made a move on Kaelie."

"You're just jealous," Jace smirked.

"Is this about Pandemonium when Jace was attacked?" Alec intervened before his sister could shout out a response. "Fortunately there had been only a little demon poisoning involved. We managed to remove it before it spread too far," Alec said in his usual calm manner.

Isabelle frowned. "If it weren't for that stupid mundie-"

"Yes, Isabelle," Hodge sighed, glad that he was able to get a word into this hasty conversation. "She is exactly whom I wished to talk about." Hodge turned his head to look at Jace, who, even though he expected the subject, was suddenly acting more interested. "I invited her to the Institute, so that I may ask her a few questions about her family history. Maybe if I could-"

"I'll escort her," Jace said, without a moment of hesitation. He felt everyone's eyes on him, but he only returned his gaze to Hodge, who didn't look surprised. "She remembers me the most," he explained, as if this were the most apparent statement in the world.

"I'm sorry, Jace, I've already sent a friend of mine; I fire-messaged him and he replied this morning, accepting the task."

"Who better than me?" Jace urged, glancing at the fireplace. The fireplace wasn't lit; he saw that the firewood was charred and fine, powdery ashes were scattered among the fireplace floor. The poker leaned against the wall beside it.

Hodge paused for a moment. "Crosshall and Clary will be arriving sometime tomorrow morning. I want the three of you," he said, lingering on Jace, "not to get involved. For once, keep your impulsive curiosities at bay."

"You're kidding," mused Jace. "That's my most respected quality!"

"I'm afraid you have no say in the matter." Hodge leered. "I already informed the Clave—"

"The Clave is involved in this?" Alec interrupted.

"They'll keep her at the Gard when they see that she's a regular mundane," Jace said in realization.

Hodge sighed, tired and in pain. He fumbled with his fingers, looking at the globe on his desk. Jace thought that it was unfair that Clary would be imprisoned in an unfamiliar world.

"The Crosshall family is in close accords with the Clave. Everything they know, everything they _do, _the Clave knows about it. We're just going to have to deal with this for the time being . . . ."

Hodge was interrupted by a piercing toll, loud and low, that seemed to be coming from inside the Institute walls. Jace saw Hodge's lips purse as he rised from his desk and bolted for the door.

"That must be Crosshall now." He froze, hand resting on the doorknob. Then he turned back to look at Alec, then Isabelle, and finally stopping at Jace. "Do not move." And with that, he opened the door, so tall and wide compared to Hodge's small body, and slipped through.

For a second, there was silence between the three Shadowhunters. Jace stared at Isabelle and Alec; Alec stared back at him. But Isabelle had been looking out the window, dazed. Still half-present, she broke the silence. "Jace, you have to trust-what are you doing?"

Jace crossed the room and stepped onto the windowsill quicker than the human eye can see. He hoisted himself onto a nearby study-looking tree limb and squatted. Isabelle poked her head out from the window and looked up at Jace with a frown.

"Jace! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Alec exclaimed.

Jace just smirked. "Don't tell Hodge," he said without the slightest thought that they would, and, jumping from branch to branch, descended.

**Hope you guys loved this chapter :) Worked a week for this. I'm hoping to get a lot of feedback from you guys. Tell me what I did wrong, or praise :D Thx for all your comments ab how you loved the original scenes. Those were actually the easiest for me to write. Here's a shout-out to all my friends and fans (tell me i and review):**

**WHOO! I LUV U GUYS! KEEP REVIEWING AND I'LL LUV U 4EVER! U KEEP ME GG! X3**


	4. Shadowhunter

"Does he even know where he's going?" Alec clawed at his hair as he paced the library, mumbling to himself, then stopped in the center of the constellated floor, looking over at Isabelle as if realizing she was there. "Jace is going to go against the Clave, Isabelle, do you realize what that means?" He gasped.

Isabelle sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the arm of the couch, contemplating her worried brother.

"The risk is unreasonable. I can see that. But let him take care of himself, Alec. He's never trusted the Clave."

Alec shook his head. "I don't care. He has nothing against the Clave. All this for a mundie girl!"

For a minute, Isabelle just stared at her brother, his orderly appearance gone. His hair was made untidy from when he ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly; his shirt was wrinkled and disheveled.

"Or are you jealous?"

Alec looked up from where he had been staring at the floor. Isabelle could see in his eyes the small glint of resentment, a swell of irritation, as it turned slowly into strong doubt.

"This has nothing to do with me," he said, his eyes darkening. Isabelle felt them boring into her mind as every minute passed by with not so much as a word from either of them.

The door opened with a low creak and in walked Hodge. Behind him was a boy around eighteen. Everything about him was black, like his name. The swirling black holes of his eyes, his coal-black hair, the shirt that hugged the lean muscles on his stomach. The only thing on him that wasn't black was his skin, which displayed an olive-toned tan. Isabelle sighed in relief as Alec tore his gaze away from her to stare at the newcomer. He realized, even though this boy had similar features to him, he was not at all like Jace. This boy had a more threatening mood. Gloomy, depressing.

Hodge looked at the siblings, realizing Jace's absence. "Where did Jace run off to?"

Isabelle hesitated, struggling as to not glance over at the window, which, unfortunately, Jace forgot to shut. Should she tell Hodge? If she did, what might happen? Hodge would send Crosshall back to where he came from and the Clave would hear about it. Though if she kept silent, following Jace's request, Crosshall would see that Clary was not where she was said to be, and the Clave would take them all to be stored away at the Gard. She looked over at Alec, who also seemed to be hesitating.

"Jace ran to do an errand," Isabelle said to Hodge in an expression and tone that she hoped Hodge would comprehend. For a long time, Hodge only stared at her; she felt his stare purge through her as it always did and she couldn't help but shiver.

Without taking his eyes off of her, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. "Mr. Crosshall. I regret that your assistance is no longer required at the moment. It seems the job is already done."

Crosshall, from his formal position of standing with his feet apart and his hands behind his back, looked up from a thorough acquaintance of the room. "The Clave demands information of this girl, Starkweather. I am to see if she is a rightful abomination, and if so, I am to escort her to the Gard. That is my duty; I stay."

"Yes," Hodge puffed, and turned to Isabelle. "Isabelle, tell Jace to meet Clary at Java Jones—the one downtown. Tell him to hurry." Isabelle nodded; Hodge turned back to his guest. "In the meantime, would you like a cup of tea? Can I do anything to make you feel more at home?"

With a polite refusal from Crosshall, and another apology from Hodge, the weary tutor left the room. Crosshall followed a little while afterwards, bringing the bleak, melancholy atmosphere that had spread throughout the room with him.

Alec reached for his cell, but Isabelle stopped him.

"What is it?" he asked, hand hesitating above his back pocket.

Isabelle shook her head. "Nothing." She grabbed her phone from her boot and dialed for Jace. "I want to do it."

Java Jones was not that hard to find, and Jace didn't waste much time. But he knew that if he did this quickly, and got back to the Institute earlier than scheduled, he'd have a long talk with Hodge, and he didn't have that kind of patience. He slowed to a casual walk . A block away, he could see the flashy green and pink neon sign of a coffee mug and platter with small letters below it.

Jace was told that Clary was with Simon. His goal was to bring Clary, and only Clary, to the Institute. Along the way to the cafe, he conjured up a scheme on how to separate the two mundanes, get Clary alone. If she saw him, she would follow him wherever he went, he knew that.

He threw the door open, and the cafe's interior scent washed over him. It smelled both of vanilla, beans, and, with his distinct sense of smell, cinnamon. People in groups of one, two or three conversed over mugs of coffee or lattes. It made him want a cup of coffee badly, but the thought of the Clave diminished the desire. He did not care of the fact that he might be in huge trouble with Hodge, or even with the Gard, but the image of Crosshall swirled around and around in his head and he grew even more irritated.

He needed to make the picture go away, and with only with one solution. He scanned the room, through the thin, murmuring crowd, and found her.

Clary was in the far corner talking with a goth girl in a bright orange tee. She was blond, but Jace could tell by her painted black nails, dark makeup and black contacts that she intended to look moody. The look fitted her, it was attractive. Clary, however, with her black tee for the occasion, knicked jeans, her wild, morning hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and the bags under her eyes as a sign of exhaustion, overpowered the other girl by a mile.

They seemed to be looking over at the counter, where a boy stood with two styrofoam cups of black coffee. Jace couldn't see who they boy was with his back turned to him, but he could see enough to know that the boy had dark, wavy hair, fair skin, and a shapely figure. He was good-looking in an feminine way.

As he turned, Jace saw that it was Simon, walking back over to where Clary sat. At this, the goth girl departed and made her way to a nearby couch. Jace found one himself and sat down upon it to eavesdrop.

"-please don't tell anyone I know him." Jace heard someone in the background spit

out unappropriately-used words in a violent rage. The boy knew not of what he was doing, and it made Jace cringe at every word.

He heard Clary laugh, making Jace's stomach jump. "Who uses the word 'loins'?"

"Eric," Simon grumbled. "All his poems have 'loins' in them." Another blast of misused words came from Eric, drowning out some of Simon and Clary's.

"Furious Mole is not a good name for a band," Clary said. Jace shook his head. Mundanes and their weird conversations. Everything he hears come out of their mouths were things Shadowhunters would never use. Bands, chicks, gossip, parties. Not in Jace's vocabulary.

"Not that," Simon said, interrupting his thoughts. "It's about what we were talking about before. About me not having a girlfriend."

Jace raised an eyebrow. He had thought maybe Simon and Clary had liked eachother; they looked to have been friends for a long time. For them not to be in the least bit closer meant something. At least, it applies to Clary. With Simon, however, there was an obvious glint in his eye whenever he saw her.

"...I don't want to ask Jaida Jones out."

"Why not?" Clary asked.

"Because," Simon said, "I like someone else." Without helping it, Jace smiled.

"Okay," Clary said slowly. Jace saw the girl with the orange top look back at Simon. She smiled, hoping to get Simon's attention, but he didn't take his eyes off of Clary. The girl frowned and turned back to Eric, who, Jace guessed, wasn't halfway finished.

"You're not gay, are you?"

Jace almost jumped out from out of his chair laughing. He had to hold his breath so that he can keep from running out of the cafe in hysterics.

Simon blushed and shrank in his chair. Jace saw the blond girl's eyes widen in front of him. "If I were, I would dress better," he defended.

Clary raised an eyebrow. "So, who is it, then?" She was so clueless. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He guffawed, noticing too late, and coughed to try to hide it.

She looked over when no one else didn't, he realized. Simon stared at her, his eyebrows scrunched together in contemplation. "Clary?" he asked, but it didn't look as if she heard him. She was looking straight at Jace, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Clary, what is it?"

Now was the time to leave. It was his plan. He knew that if he appeared mysteriously for the second time when she believed that she would never see any of what she saw last night again, she would have questions. So when he leaves, those questions would be left unanswered and the questioner unappeased.

Jace waved at her as a good-bye and quickly got up from the green time-worn couch to the exit. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clary get up from her seat with a few last words to Simon and followed him. He smiled in satisfaction.

Clary threw the doors open, and, seeing him slouched against the wall casually, turned pale. Scared that he might have frightened her, he tried to ease the tension.

"Your friend's poetry is terrible." Way to comfort her, Jace.

"What?" Clary asked, looking at him as if he told her his hair was on fire.

"I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting up words at random."

"I don't care about Eric's poetry! I want to know why you're following me!" She crossed her arms, frustrated. It didn't affect him, he suspected, the way she wanted it to. But, for a moment, Jace did wonder why he was. It was unusual for him to be so fascinated with an ordinarily bred mundane. But maybe that was just it. Maybe she wasn't one.

"Who said I was following you?"

"Nice try. And you were eavesdropping, too," she pointed out, as if just realizing it. "Do you want to tell me what this is about? Or should I just call the police?"

Jace held back the urge to roll his eyes. "And tell them what? That invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police aren't going to arrest someone they can't see."

"I told you before!" she snapped, surprising Jace once more at her choice of tangent. "My name is not 'little girl'! It's Clary."

Jace couldn't help but feel a slight sense of deja vu. "I know. Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?"

Clary blinked. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't know much, do you?" he said rhetorically, attempting to avoid contact with her eyes. They were mesmerizing, inhuman..but he failed. Not being able to fully pull away, he said half-consciously, "You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane...yet you can see me. It's a conundrum."

"What's a mundane?"

With ease, he explained, "Someone of the human world." As if someone had snapped their fingers under his nose, Jace realized that he was distracted. And so with difficulty, he jerked away in one motion an ordinary mundane couldn't contemplate. Just like she.

"But you're human," she said. It was then that Jace noticed he had said his thought aloud.

"I am. But I'm not like you." It was mostly true.

Clary's jaw tautened and she crossed her arms, evidently irritated. "You think you're better. That's why you were laughing at us." It saddened him, really, how much she knows about him.

"I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited," he vindicated. " And because your Simon is one of the most mundane mundanes I've ever encountered . And because Hodge thought you might be dangerous, but if you are, you certainly don't know it," he added with a scoff.

"_I'm _dangerous?" She looked ready to just abandon him and walk back in to join Simon, returning to her mundane activities to gorget all's that happened. "I saw you kill someone last night. I saw you drive a knife up under his ribs, and-" Jace noticed her looking just above his stomach at his chest, her gaze lingering there for a second and finally resting on his arm. She looked astonished.

"I may be a killer, but I know what I am. Can you say the same?"

"I'm an ordinary mundane just like you said. Who's Hodge?" she abruptly

changed the subject.

"My tutor," he answered simply. Still thinking of his theory, he supplied, "And I wouldn't be so quick to brand myself as ordinary, if I were you...Let me see your right hand." He held out his arm as a gesture.

"My right hand?" she said. He nodded. "If I show you my right hand, will you leave me alone?"

Jace remembered his assignment, and knew that this wouldn't happen. Although, he never lied . . . "Certainly." He smiled a toothy grin. At least, after he brought her to Hodge, he'd do the best he can.

Clary thrust her right hand out to him; her fingers were short and stubby. Not bony or long like other musically talented novices. The tips of her fingers were stained with paint and lead, and her nails were chipped. The hands of an artist. These were the things Jace saw, and there was one thing he didn't see.

"Nothing-You're not left-handed, are you?"

"No. Why?"

Jace released her hand slowly. "Most Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands-or left, if they're left-handed like I am-when they're still young," he said, showing her his left hand. His black sleeve slipped away and he saw parts of runes peek out from its edge. He recognized the Nimble rune "It's a permanent rune that lends an extra skill with weapons."

Clary's face scrunched up and looked up from his hand. "I don't see anything."

"Let your mind relax. Wait for it to come to you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of water." He saw Clary nod and look again at the olive surface of his hand. Her features eased and her shoulders slackened.

"You're crazy-" Then her eyes widened faintly as he knew that she saw the black marks jump across his fingers. As quickly as it had broadened, it constringed. "A tattoo?"

So she saw. That was unlikely, a phenomenon. So totally un-mundane. He smiled at her in encouragement.

"I thought you could do it. And it's not a tattoo-it's a Mark. They're runes, burned into our skin."

Clary, obviously, cringed. "They make you handle weapons better?"

"Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they've been used."

"That's why your arms aren't all inked up today? Even when I concentrate?"

Jace smiled smugly. "That's exactly why. I knew you had the Sight, at least." As if by signal, he looked at Clary's eyes. Her green eyes were darkened by shadows, created by the slight bridges were her eyebrows were. It obstructed the shiny green that made him want to bring her in his arms and protect her.

It was then when he realized what could be the cause of the obstructing shadows. The moon hung high in the night sky. He glanced up, as if needing reassurance, and, seeing the stars that looked a lot familiar, remembered, once again, the reason for his occurrence.

"It's nearly full dark," he said, resting his eyes on Clary again. "We should go."

"_We_? I thought you were going to leave me alone," she protested. Jace thought he heard a little bit of acceptance in her tone, but maybe he imagined it. Anyway, most he heard was irritation.

"I lied. Hodge said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you."

"Why would he want to talk to me?" she said with comprehension, making small movements with her head.

"Because you know the truth now," Jace said, carefully avoiding the subject of the Clave. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

"About _us_? You mean, people like you. People who believe in demons," Clary said.

"People who kill them," he corrected. "We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

"Downworlders?"

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension."

Clary shook her head. "Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

"Of course there are. Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the _voudun_ priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?"

"Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies."

"They don't?"

Jace realized Clary was only trying to distract him. Time was wasted easily tonight. "Of course not. Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him."

She relented. "What if I don't want to see him?"

"That's your problem. You can either come willingly or unwillingly."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you _threatening _to_ kidnap _me_?_"

Jace shrugged. "If you want to look at it that way, yes."

Just then, an irritating ringing noise sounded off. It rang twice before Jace realized it was a cellphone. Clary reached into her bookbag, looked at her called ID, and frowned. She brought it to her ear.

"Mom?" A form of panic raided her features. "It's all right, Mom. I'm fine. I'm on my way home-"

Jace heard someone scream from the other line and Clary looking confused. It was silent for a while, and yet, every second of it, his nerves grew tense with anticipation. He jumped when she shouted, "Mom!"

"Mom, are you all right?" Another pause. "_Who's_ found you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you-" She was interrupted by a loud crash from the other side.

Jace felt the blood rush in his ears, his pulse quickened, and he bit his lip to keep from ripping the phone from her hands and rushing her over to her house. It was then that she knew that this wasn't any ordinary situation. That she was actually involved in this other-worldly problem. He felt like rejoicing and frowning in desolation at the same time. She_ was_ one of them, and this was evidence of it.

Clary's face went blank.

She was shaking not in fear but in determination and frustration. It only made it worse when her fingers always slipped from the door bolt. As it gave a satisfying _thunk_, she scrambled around the office looking for the book. She remembered storing it in a significant book, one Clary always found boring. She encountered the memory as it occurred yesterday. And now it was sadly coming to an end.

She breathed out a sigh of relief when she found the book. Inside was the silvery purple potion. She brushed a damp strand of hair behind an ear and dropped the potion into her hand.

A large crash came from downstairs and she jumped. Her hand went for her stele in her office drawer and she stuffed it into her back pocket as another deafening crash sounded, closer this time.

Frantic, she searched for a phone. Her cellphone lay unopened on her dresser; she lunged for it, tripping. The moment her fingers touched its surface, she was dialing the first person she thought of.

She answered on the third ring. "Mom?"

"Oh, Clary! Oh, thank God!" she breathed out a sigh of relief. She felt her hands still shaking; she bet her voice sounded unsteady, too. "Listen to me."

"It's all right, Mom. I'm fine. I'm on my way home-"

"_No!_" Anything. She had to say anything to prevent Clary from coming home. "Don't come home! Do you understand me, Clary? Don't you dare come home." She found herself pacing the room looking for something. She took the time locking up and hiding all the things that could be used for mass destruction and what could be labeled as really important in the Shadowhunter world. Another inaudible thud traveled upstairs, and she heard heavy footsteps heading up the stairs. "Go to Simon's and call Luke-tell him that he's found me-"

The door came crashing down with the large crack of splitting wood. A cloud of wood shavings flew everywhere, making her cough. Splinters stuck to her damp forehead and flew to her eyes that she needed to kneel on the floor to keep herself steady. Coughing as the dust cleared, a dark figure's outline configured itself with the thick cloud. She gasped.

"I love you, Clary." And she gulped down the potion, throwing the vial out the window with a sharp smash. She snapped the phone shut just as the figure stepped out of the fog. His features were as familiar as an aquainted friend from your younger days. The sandy blond hair, muscly lean body, dark clothing, cocky grin. A friend you thought you've gotten rid of a long time ago.

"_Valentine_," she hissed.

Valentine grinned. "Jocelyn." A mass of oddly-deformed creatures flooded from his left and right sides and crowded her. She already felt the potion taking effect; her vision blurred and she found the room spinning.

"Long time, no see."

"Mom!" Clary screamed, tears falling down the side of her face. "Mom, are you there?"

"Clary-" Jace wanted to reach out to her, gather her into an embrace. But that's not what she needed, she needed someone to help her mother. "What's going on?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she dialed another number and put the phone to her ear again, waiting. She was shaking so hard as she redialed. So hard, her phone slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. She dove for it, but was too late, seeing that it was already broken.

"Damn it!" she cried in frustration.

"Stop that!" he yelled. Even watching her like this was hurting him. The only way Jace can help is for her to tell him what happened. And before she could do that, she had to calm down. He pulled her back up by the wrists. "Has something happened?" he pried.

"Give me your phone," she said, reaching for Jace's Sensor. "I have to-"

"It's not a phone. You won't be able to use it."

"But I need to call the police!"

"Tell me what happened first. I can help you!" His grip tightened on her wrists when he found her struggling to get away. Then, without warning, she clawed at his face. Sharp pain shot through the side of his face and neck. Surprised, he loosened his grips on her, enough for her to twist free and run.

He stroked his red hot cheek as he watched Clary flee down the street. Then Jace let out a groan of impatience, scolding himself for never believing he would meet someone quite as stubborn as he himself was.


	5. Ravener

When Jace glanced back inside the cafe, he saw Simon getting up, on his way outside. Somehow, he didn't want to deal with Simon at the minute. Jace broke out in a run, Clary's fiery red hair still in view, but barely a speck. He could feel himself gaining speed, catching up to her, when a strong hand caught hold of his wrist.

The ground rushed up to his head, and he realized he had tripped. Even with this weak display, he still had years of Shadowhunter training behind him. Instinctively he rolled around onto his back and pushed himself off the ground with his elbows, landing on a crouch in the darkness. Looking around, his surroundings told him he was in an alley, not deep in one, but near the entrance. He also noticed that no one was attacking him.

Slowly, Jace backed away. It was when the heel of his foot brushed the edge of the sunlight when a deep voice, recognizable, spoke up.

"Jace Wayland," the man spoke. Jace jumped at the unwelcome last name. "I believe we haven't formally met." A tall, bulky figure rose from the pitch-black canvas. "My name is Kurtis Crosshall."

"Crosshall," Jace whispered. The name took him almost immediately. The Crosshalls, the Clave's loyalists for many generations. It made him think of Clary who was most probably getting in loads of trouble at the moment. He couldn't afford to go along with this interference for long. "Can I help you? I was kind of in a hurry," he added with dry humor.

Crosshall smirked. "I was wondering, a friendly curiosity-," Crosshall stood, now, with his arms crossed over his chest and legs spread apart. "Jace, do you realize you could be put in the Gard for being an obstruction to the Clave?" Crosshall raised an eyebrow. Jace could see he grew impatient with Jace's getaway attempt. He knew he'd been discovered, his concealment broken.

"I'll find a way, Crosshall. I am not afraid of the Clave, but I am positive that it is not just putting an innocent bystander, a mundane, in an otherworldly prison."

"We won't harm her. She needs to be tested. And if she is one of us, I promise you she will be released." Jace has never trusted the Clave.

"There must be another way."

Crosshall's face scrunched together for a moment in contemplation. He replied calmly, "There is no other safe way to find out." Jace knew that Clary was not normal. Half mortal, half Nephilim, maybe. But normal is out of the question. He knew Clary is in for a surprise as she is drawn into a world whose purpose is to hide itself from her kind.

"I'll find a way." Jace scanned the street, looking for Clary. He was too late, as that of seeing Clary turn the corner, getting away. Jace sprinted. He felt Crosshall's fingers brush his arm, but he was too fast. He'd thought the man would come running after him, instead, he yelled out two sentences.

"I sent the Inquisitor to the Institute, Wayland! You'll never get away with this!"

It was already night, and the alleys made everything much more depressing. Jace used the alleys as shortcuts to get through crowded roads and streets faster. He was lost now, since he lost Clary. He was just about to climb up the ladder and look out over the city to see if he can spot a sprinting figure with fiery red hair-

Something vibrated in his pocket and he realized it was his cellphone. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID.

Alec.

Jace flipped the phone open. "Alec? Where are you?"

For a minute, there were just monotonous noises coming from the other side, and Isabelle murmuring something to Alec. Then he came to the phone.

"Jace?" Alec called.

"Yeah."

"Where are you? I regret we discovered some horrible news."

Jace scanned the alley as if he could see Clary just outside the entrance, and started into a fast jog. "As if I hadn't had enough."

"What do you mean by that? What trouble have you gotten into now, Jace?"

He hopped off of a metal fence, barb-wired along the top. But he still landed among the bushes, unscathed. "Just tell Hodge that I'll be there in a few minutes." After making sure there were no violent guard dogs, he straightened and continued with his search. "What is the bad news?"

"A reading. It seems a large horde of demons are coming from one pinpoint."

In the distant, Jace began to hear high-pitched alarms. As he neared closer, he made out blaring police cars. It was when he was a few miles away when he saw the smoke. He figured this was the place Alec mentioned.

"I'll look into it," he said, and snapped the phone shut before Alec could protest.

The place was a disaster. Windows were broken in, the door was split in half. Inside, it seemed as a hurricane had occurred inside. Through the threshold, lay a female body in a pool of blood, motionless. The police arrived, but Jace figured they were no help-more like from the wrong side of things. They were examining the windows and front lawn decorated with shimmering glass, dirt, and blood. A few feet away, there had been two or three demons, dead, but now they were gone, disposed of.

Jace's heart quickened as he rushed over by Clary's side. The first thing he noticed was a small red hole upon the nape of her neck. Angry, he looked around the interior of the interior. Lying nearby, almost on top of her, was the carcass of a Ravener demon, still squirming, black blood spurting from its mouth. He didn't know whose blood lay in a pool under Clary, it was dark out and he would not be able to see whether the blood was human or creature.

He figured, then, since the Ravener demon is half-dead now, then a few moments ago, it would've still been half-dead. The bite was not fatal; it explained Clary still being alive currently. A few feet farther away, was his Sensor. When he saw the scene before him, he suddenly felt proud of his inexperienced little mundane.

He rolled her over on her back and stroked her damp hair aside. Jace laid a hand on her forehead to check her pulse, his ears ringing and blood rushing from his face. When he felt the slightest heartbeat, he exhaled and the color rushed back to his face. Looking around, He picked her up in his arms and lay her across a clean patch of lawn, in the dark and away from the police.

He reached for a special Shadowhunter salted embrocation in his weapons belt and applied it on the wounds. The ointment helped relieve tense pain a stele cannot accomplish. It worked as an temporary alternative for a stele, but only worked on a weak immune system. Once Clary became conscious, she'd need something stronger. But he didn't have anything like that. He had to bring her to the Institute.

Jace knelt beside her, ready to wait for her to wake, when he saw a tiny movement come from inside the apartment. His head whipped instinctively to the source. With only a beam of light from an upstairs window, Jace saw nothing. But he knew something stirred in the darkness. Slowly, he stood, eyes glued on the doorway, and he made his way inside.

The interior had been completely destroyed. The couch ripped to shreds, paintings and portraits broken and blown away from their delicate placings on the walls. Books lay on the floor, some open, some closed. But all were ripped in halves and quarters. The piano was split in half. The keys, that Jace guessed used to play such beautiful music, were strewn across the piano, still attached to the tuning strings.

He looked to his left. The kitchen was damaged just the same. Cabinets were left open, broken glass on counters and the tile floor. A mysterious red liquid ran from the counter to the kitchen sink. Flowers that once bloomed were found in shreds.

He saw something slither just below his feet and he jumped, pulling out a seraph blade.

"_Nathriel_," he whispered, and it glowed a lively green color. He held it out in front of him like a flashlight and a shield. The thing stirred again, and this time, he caught a glimpse of its tail. An abandoned demon, left at the battle site all alone. The worm-like demon came into full-view.

Jace followed it downstairs, which seemed untouched, which was unusual. Why would the demons only rampage the upstairs floor? The creature entered a room, the door was left open. Beside the door was a plaque, embalmed in gloss, reading, _Madame Dorothea, Seeress and Prophetess._

The room was covered, wall-to-wall, in what seemed like beaded rugs, calendars, and ancient scripts. The place stank of candles and incense. He strolled over to the dining table, decorated with crystal balls and their golden supports, and teacup filled to the brim with a pale green liquid. Tarot cards were strewn all over the floor. The crystal balls interested Jace. He peered through them, trying to form a mental picture with the white fog that spun inside the transparent globe. After a while, Jace smirked and flicked the crystal. It made a hollow noise. Fake.

He took the next few minutes touring the apartment room. This Madame Dorothea was obviously crazy, a poser. Or maybe just a cover to hide her true identity. Jace didn't get why this room was unharmed, not an impure hand laid upon it, when the upstairs floor was utterly distraught.

Something jumped out at him from behind; Jace whirled around quickly just in time to see the demon worm extend its pointed teeth and lunge at his neck. Jace's anger, both for Clary and him, flowed from his arm to the blade still in his hand. The blade beamed brighter, a phosphorescent green, like jade. He stepped aside faster than the human eye can see, and the demon landed on the ancient-carved table. Tablemats and teacups flew everywhere. Then Jace plunged the dagger into the creature's heart.

Everything was dark now. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. The glass splattered across the dark grass shimmered against the twilight. And Jace couldn't help feeling like a constellation in the night sky, the jagged pieces of glass as stars. He waited patiently for Clary to gain consciousness.

A few minutes passed, and Clary began to arouse with a small nudge and bat of the eyelash. She made a sound like she was choking and her eyes opened. Distracted only for a moment, glad and relieved, he noticed how he never thought that a hushed breath could be so tranquilizing, and how the slight color of someone else's eyes can make him so...happy. He jerked back into this reality. Jace reached for the handkerchief he kept in his weapons belt and tore it into several narrow strips.

"Don't move," he said for the first time. He saw her face distort as if the sound of his voice was torturing.

She acted like this was a disobedience game, trying to move her arms, but not being able to. So she settled for twisting her head to the side; she grimaced.

"I told you not to move," he snapped. He should've known she wouldn't listen. "That Ravener demon got you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasn't much of a sting, but we have to get you to the Institute." _And away from the Inquisitor._ Clary shuddered. "Hold still."

"That thing-.-the monster-.-it _talked_."

"You've heard a demon before," he pointed out. He smeared a strip of cloth with the Shadowhunter salts for a second coat and wrapped it around her neck. He beamed inwardly when he saw her relax.

"The demon in Pandemonium-.-it looked like a person."

"It was an Eidolon demon. A shape-changer. Raveners look like they look. Not very attractive, but they're too stupid to care."

Her eyes widened slightly, as if realizing something. "It said it was going to eat me."

Jace went back to the scene he contemplated as he discovered Clary's unconscious body. He tried imagining what the battle scene looked like. All in all, even though trying to imagine a girl like she could kill a demon like that-.-alone, it was impressive.

"But it didn't. You killed it." He gave one last tug on the knot he tied.

To Jace's surprise, she sat up with ease. But her voice told him she still had difficulties.

"The police are here. We should-"

"There's nothing they can do. Somebody probably heard you screaming and reported it. Ten to one of these aren't real police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks..."

"My mom."

Jace cringed. "There's Ravener poison coursing through your veins right now. You'll be dead in an hour if you don't come with me." Jace will be dead in a few minutes if he doesn't return to the Institute in a few minutes. He held out his hand. "Come on."

She wobbled at first. Jace set a hand on her back like a father would his child when he's teaching her to first ride a bike. "Can you walk?"

"I think so." She stumbled and Jace's set her upright. She was looking at the police woman who just stepped out of her car. She gasped silently. "Her hand-"

"I told you they might be demons." His arm twisted her around smally so that she would turn away from the unnatural sight. "We have to get out of here. Can we go through the alley?"

Clary shook her head. "It's bricked up. There's no way-" She was interrupted in a violent fit of coughing. She pulled her hand away and saw blood. Clary whimpered.

Jace couldn't help it any longer. This has been in his mind ever since he met Clary, but he always drew away, distracting himself until he forgot. Now, as he saw her, scared and half-dead, looking like the walking undead, the thought came back and pushed his thoughts persistently away. He grabbed her arm and turned it over to her wrist. He clutched at the stele in his hand and gently drew a set of circles near her palm. The symbol lingered for a moment above where he drew it, and finally settled itself into her skin. The black marks against her pale complexion looked like stripes on a white tiger.

His muscles tightened as he anticipated her piercing clamors of endless, pulsing pain. A sign that she was a mortal, and he was wrong. And that he would regret about it as she slowly transformed into an ugly creature. A Forsaken. He would never forgive himself.

"What's that supposed to do?" she asked, curious.

Jace's eyes widened. He was speechless for a moment, so-overjoyed. He knew it, she _is _one of them. It explained everything.

"It'll hide you. Temporarily," he finally spoke up. Clary watched him as he put away the mysterious tool he used to create the mark on her skin. "My stele," he explained. As if it explained everything she had to learn. Everything she was going to get herself into. Every demon she would encounter, every minute she would train, every part of her old life she'd never see again. Jace sighed.

"Jace-.-" Her knees gave in and she fell into his arms. He felt as if he might break her fragile body if he clutched at her too tightly. He gathered her in his arms,

"Clary, we have to get you to the Institute. That Covenant Mark can only work for-.-" Her head bent upward so she could look up at him. But he could tell that it was difficult to keep her eyes in one place, since they were spinning uncontrollably, then, finally, her eyes shut, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Jace set out into the alleyways, going back the same way he came to the Institute, a frail-looking girl with fiery red hair and demon poison running through her veins, in his arms.

**Yay! Finally, another chapter! I was really wordy today, plus, when I got some comments saying to update sooner, I got on my laptop and typed a full chapter in four hours continuous. I promise you guys I **_**will**_** update sooner. Now that it's summer, I have all the time in the world. I took those comments that are pushing me to write more as a compliment, saying that you really want to read the nxt chapter. I kno i haven't updated in a while and I'm SO sorry. :( I'm disappointed in myself. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are excited for the next chapter to come! It's been fun writing this, and plz review on it! I need to know what I did wrong, and what I need to add or take away, or what you loved, even. So I can fix it and prevent it to happen in future chapters :) Chapterly shout out: LUV TO ALL! AND TO ALL, I LUV! :D**


	6. Clave and Covenant P1

"What did I tell you, Isabelle? I knew Jace would get himself into trouble for his impulsive actions." The three young Shadowhunters were settled in the library, preparing for the Inquisitor's visit. Alec sat uncomfortably on the leg of the leather armchair in the corner of the room, speaking to Isabelle with a strained voice. Isabelle was strolling around the room, playing with her whip. So far, she's damaged the lamp on Hodge's desk, knocked down a shelf of books, and left a gauge on the wood floor. Jace lies sprawled on the couch, witnessing their endless bickering with a smirk and occasional roll of the eyes.

"Yes, Alec. You've told me nearly a hundred times," Isabelle said with another lash of her whip. "The Inquisitor is coming."

Jace had put Clary in the infirmary within the care of Hodge. Hodge has always cared for them all. He beheld the knowledge of rare medicines and always experimented, concocting new healing creams and potions. It's how Jace got the embrocation he used to save Clary. The ointment, Hodge said, saved her. If Jace hadn't brought her in sooner, Clary would've been dead, or at least, it would've been too late to do anything.

But Jace was satisfied. With Clary unconscious and as long as the mendelin rune remained imprinted on her skin, the Clave had no reason for taking her in. With a Shadowhunter rune on her wrist, it was evident that she was not a special mundane, but actually something better.

They still had to solve the mystery of what had happened to her family, and for what reason her memory contained no knowledge of the world she supposedly belongs in.

Alec and Isabelle were still fighting, and Isabelle was getting a little aggressive with her whip. "You know, Alec, I'm getting really annoyed of you, constantly mothering me! I'm perfectly capable of handling this situation!"

"And I'm growing tired of your immaturity. I'm not mothering you! I'm simply-"

"Well, now, both of you are irritating me. So I'd appreciate it if you guys would both shut up," Jace interfered. It was Alec who looked at Jace first, wearing a shocked expression, but it quickly changed to a brotherly despicableness. Isabelle, her back towards Jace, turned around next and looked at Jace, amused. Alec appeared about to object to Jace's comment, when footsteps were heard from the hall outside. The footsteps did not belong to Hodge. These sounded refined, steady and firm. The next thing Jace knew, Alec jumped up from the chair's arm and Isabelle dashed for the couch.

Jace hadn't moved. He was rewarded of it when Isabelle threw a pillow at his head. "Jace! Don't look so debonair. Lose the slack." He straightened only a little, but it was enough for Isabelle: she shrugged.

The door burst open and in walked a short, bony woman. Her cheekbones hollow, the woman's eyes were a gray that could be mistaken for black. She was dressed in a gray business suit, and gray loafers. A parchment-colored robe hung from her shoulders. It was silent for a minute as the Inquisitor scanned the room, wrinkling her nose.

"Imogen," Jace decided to break the silence. Isabelle shot him a panicked look.

The Inquisitor snapped her head to face her addresser. As she contemplated Jace's smug features and boyish grin, she scowled. "You address me so informally? What is your name?"

"I'm sure Crosshall would have told you that my name is Jace."

The Inquisitor cackled. "Such a boyish name. Is it a nickname?" Jace shook his head, unoffended. He particularly favored his name.

Her voice traveled over to Isabelle, next to him. Isabelle changed from a tense disposition to a respectful nod of the head. When the Inquisitor was satisfied, she moved on to Alec who stood stiffly in a stance.

"I expect your travels were pleasurable, Inquisitor?" Alec said.

"Very."

Alec's gaze tore away from hers as if he were a small boy being scolded by his mother. The Inquisitor spent the next few seconds observing Alec. Jace could see the way he fidgeted and suffered inwardly. He knew he had to interrupt to save Alec.

"As much as we enjoy your company here, Imogen, aren't you here for a certain devil's bidding?"

To his pleasure, Imogen turned away from Alec to glare at Jace. Alec stopped cringing and he slouched; lax.

The Inquisitor pursed her lips. "It seems, Jace, that your behaviors are requiring the Clave's attention. I was sent over to end that. You are hiding a mundane, is that correct?"

"Not fully. She isn't-.-"

The library door opened and Hodge walked in, rubbing his hands with a bloody towel. "She won't regain consciousness for a few days, but she'll be fine."

Jace couldn't help feeling sorry for the guy. He stopped in his tracks, looking small, a man suddenly stricken by the spotlight. Beads of sweat formed on the old man's forehead as he shook uncontrollably.

"Imoge-.-Inquisitor. How may I assist you?" Hodge shot Jace a quizzical look, but only briefly. His head turned back to face the Inquisitor before Jace could shrug. The shocked expression on the woman's face told him that they knew each other in the past.

"Hodge Starkweather? You are their guardian?" she gestured more toward Jace than the Lightwood siblings.

"Their tutor, Imogen."

She examined him for what felt like an hour, until Hodge wouldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Is there any business you have here? Has the Clave found a threat to the Covenant?"

Before Jace could move away, Imogen was behind him, nails digging into his arms. Even though she was as stiff as a brick, the Inquisitor was still a Shadowhunter, meaning she moved just as quickly as the rest of them. Hodge studied Jace's finance when he realized it involved him.

"Starkweather, the threat lurks in your dominance this very moment..."

"It is what he hides!" With that, he felt his head being turned to his side, and then Imogen's face was inches away from his. "You protect her. Why is that, Wayland?"

The woman had a firm grip on his jaw. He decided not to fight her to get out of the awkward position, even though he knew he could beat her. "She is not an ordinary mundane, Imogen. I can prove it if you give me a chance."

She pushed his face away with her lanky fingers. "There is no such thing! A mundane is a mundane. It has been that way since the beginning," The Inquisitor insisted.

"Jace, just let her see Clary. They won't harm her. They'll just run some tests-.-the worst they'll do is remove her Sight," Isabelle interfered for the first time.

"Screw the Clave!" protested Jace.

"What mouth!" Imogen gasped. She looked as if she's encountered a snake. Jace said nothing. "The Clave requests me to bring the mundane child. The Covenant binds me, and a teenage boy will not stop me from enforcing the Law."

"She's still recovering. A small amount of demon poison still courses through her blood," Jace thought quickly. "I will care for her until she is ready, not the damned Clave."

The Inquisitor stood there, pursing her lips and staring at Jace with an irritated expression. Everyone, including Hodge, waited in anticipation for her reply.

"Very well." Jace exhaled. "But as soon as she is well, she belongs to the Clave," she said before anyone could speak. "As for you," she eyed Jace, "do not try any tricks. I should tell you now, before you get yourself killed, the Clave always wins." She then turned on her heel and left the library with her head held up high, leaving everyone in silence.

Jace strolled down the gloomy, endless corridor. Eyeing his presentation, he noticed that he was still dressed in his sleepwear: A normal gray tee, flannel plaids, and his hair was disheveled. He had just woken up from his third day of sleepless nights. Three days since Clary battled a Ravener all by herself. Three days since she fell into unconsciousness. Three days since the Inquisitor came for a visit. Three days since he's been getting these unexplainable nightmares that always woke him up in an untimely manner.

The first one he just let pass. It had not been that vivid; the moment he woke up, the memory disappeared from his mind and he fell asleep easily afterwards. The second time, he begun to get a little nervous. By the time the third night passed, he was extremely worried. All of them were the same. They all showed him one scene, and yet it always caught him by surprise:

_He walked, slowly, deeper and deeper into a dark room. It gave off no illumination, and energy pulsed off of its walls. He wondered how he could find his way through. The narrow passage came into an end and Jace realized he was in an underground cave. It was man-developed. Metal bars lined the walls, and the room resembled a bird cage. Cardboard boxes filled with what seemed to be luminescent liquids and leather-bound books piled in one corner. Lined up against one wall was a branded table; papers were scattered among the top. _

_He ran his fingers along one of the walls. The surface was soggy, moist . . . fresh. Jace gasped and quickly pulled his hand back. In the dim lighting, he saw the mysterious substance was a sticky red with grains of dirt mixed in. Horrified, he wiped it off his fingers with his jeans._

_Jace turned around, about to escape the underground camp, when he heard a small whimper behind him. He slowly turned on the balls of feet, trying not to create any noise so as to overpower the sound, or scare whoever or whatever was making the noise. _

_He heard the whimpering a second time, and he distinguished the sound coming from a dark corner he never stopped to recognize. Jace dragged his feet, following the whimpering, which had already grown loud. He stalled as he walked over, not sure whether he wanted to know what lurked in the gloom._

_Jace remembered the witch light in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Stroking the smooth surface, the stone gradually glowed, flooding the room in white light. He could hear the music from a small part of his ears: flames and violins. He looked back at the corner, and the next thing he knew, the music faded into silence and his eyes widened in amazement._

_There, in the little space, sat a girl. About sixteen. She hugged her legs to her chest, and her face was buried in her knees. Red hair that at first Jace thought was fire dangled a few inches above the dirty ground. The girl wore rags, and metal cuffs dug into her wrists. She didn't react to the sudden burst of light, as if she found it natural, or if she was asleep. It was unbelievable to Jace, because she should have cowered away from the light after being imprisoned in a dark room for a long time. _

_Jace noticed that she was no longer whimpering. He kneeled in front of her, holding out a lingering hand. Not wanting to scare the girl, he slowly extended his arm until his fingertips were centimeters away from her cheeks. Jace pinched a lock of her hair and placed it behind her ear. It all happened in just one second. His fingers only just brushed the tip of her ear, but she flinched as if he slapped her. Jace jerked away, and the girl settled back into a calm, ignorant manner. Jace noticed in horror, as he followed the line of her arms and legs, the prisoner's skin. Calluses marked every square inch, blisters and bruises were found in the most unusual places that is her neck and ankles, but they had nearly dominated her shoulders and arms. The thing that horrified Jace the most, however, was the whip marks on her back, which looked the most fatal. _

_His hand shot out again and he grabbed her wrist, ignoring the second flinch from her, though he felt it was more of a cringe. Her fingers, which used to be slender and graceful, were now bony and red. Jace wrapped it in his fists. "Who did this to you?" he asked._

_The girl remained silent._

_"You have to tell me, otherwise it will take much longer to release you. Please tell me, who locked you in here?" he tried again, frustrated. Just looking at her, he felt so sad, as if he might cry. The girl was suffering internally if not externally. She probably locked out all the outside pain and focused in on all her inside worries. It was probably why she was ignorant of her surroundings. _

_Silence._

_"Why can't you answer me?" he cried out, his voice cracking. _

_Suddenly, the witch light in his hand broke into a million pieces. The white light in the room extinguished like the flame of a candle. The room was pitched in darkness. Wind rushed from between his feet and along the ground. Papers flew from the desk, and Jace heard glass shatter from behind him. The room was illuminated in a blue light that seemed to be emanating from the girl. The girl still had her head upon her knees, but he saw everything differently now. The markings on her skin were not whip lashes, but thickly-drawn runes, foreign, indecipherable. Her bruises discolorated, and she grew new, tough-looking skin. _

_His eyes widened as two separate patches of skin ripped away from her back, and two stubs began to grow in place of it. The stubs grew longer and wider until it created two large wings, small eyes dotted each feather. The wings flapped in a wide arc, producing a great wind, blowing the hair out of Jace's eyes, and he was knocked onto his back._

_Then, as if the surprises still weren't yet finished, the girl finally, gradually, lifted her head. He expected an angelic face, features that would remain scarred into his mind. _

_Jace gave out a cry of horror. _

_Her face was blurred, wiped away of its clarity. Her red hair whipped wildly in all directions, that it looked almost as if it could be fire. Jace couldn't see her eyes or facial expression, or anything at all. He only made out the shape of her lips, moving in an up-and-down motion, as if she was trying to tell him something._

_But no sound was coming out._

Jace found himself walking the way to the infirmary, wanting to check on the mundane. But instead, he came across the piano room on the way. He pushed the door open slightly, peered in and caught sight of the black piano. He reminisced in the memory of his father and him, both seated around the grand piano. His small fingers pressing random keys. He remembered watching his father's long fingers travel across the keys in one motion. Thinking it compared to the way his father was when battling a demon-swift, natural-, he had always wanted to be skilled in the instrument when his fingers grew long enough to stretch for the scales.

He padded, barefoot, into the small room, forgetting to close the door behind him.


	7. Clave and Covenant P2

**Hey, guys. It's me :/ I know. I haven't updated in two weeks, or more, and I am really REALLY depressed. Like, really. I won't blame anyone if you all are really angry at me, or won't even review anymore, becuz, as you all know, I really love my reviews. I read them, and it seriously makes my day 100% better. They're all really unique and praising, that's why I luv u guys, and take the time to write for you. If I lost some fans, I can accept it. But I really love writing, and a few summer distractions won't stop me. Maybe I can get some new fans, and those who are new viewers, plz enjoy :) Those who took the time to wait and are still reading, I'm happy. :) Anyway, here's the new chapter. It won't be as good as the rest, but it'll take me a few chapters to catch up to being the really descriptive me. I lost a few points over time.**

Three days. Isabelle gave out a sigh of exhaustion. It's been three-and-a-half days since Jace brought in an unexpected guest, dripping blood and smelling of rot and wet grass. Isabelle was horrified at first that Jace would even think of bringing a mundane into the Institute. Then again, he's changed a lot since that first night in Pandemonium. Before that time, he was the Jace fonder of his Shadowhunter work than that of an unrelated matter.

Isabelle looked at Clary from the next bed, and thought, for the hundredth time that day, why Jace was so interested in such an ordinary girl. He's met many pixies, other female Shadowhunters, even she-demons, and was only interested for a week or so. With this mundane, the first in Jace's long line of fascinations, he has been interested for five days, and was just as addicted as the first day.

What perturbed Isabelle, mostly, is her homestead. For years, the three of them called the Institute their second home; the infirmary was their alternative dorm, since they found themselves spending more time in it than their supposed rooms. If Isabelle hadn't changed Clary's bloodied rags into something more comfortable, things would've been a lot worse than just the scratched floorboards and dirty bedsheets. She even took the time and care to lend her some of her clothes.

There was a knock at the door and Isabelle watched as Alec strolled in, face in a grimace. He walked in with a poise that marked Alec as Alec.

"I told you it was the same girl," Isabelle said quietly, voicing her thoughts. Yesterday, the two siblings had a small argument. Alec refused to believe it was the same mundane they met at the night club a few days ago. Alec was sure they would never see that girl again.

"I know. Little thing, isn't she?" Isabelle made a motion for him to sit next to her on the bed. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes and his slurry words exposed it. But Alec stayed where he was. "Jace said she killed a Ravener."

It was accidental. She was strolling down the hall the night Jace brought Clary in. She just happened to come across a discussion between Hodge and him, and hid from around the corner. She didn't know she was eavesdropping, she just knew that if she interrupted, they would postpone their discussion. It turned out that it was that that informed her of the Inquisitor's coming, and she hurried to tell Alec. It was that time, too, that she learned about Clary's victory. Ever since then, Jace had been quiet, and rarely spoke up like he did before. Like everyone else, as if there was a sort of warlock magic in the air, he had a hard time sleeping the past three days. Hodge offered help for all of them, especially Jace; their sleepless nights was getting serious and unnatural. But no one really accepted it.

She risked another glance at Clary. Her red hair stuck out from the hem of the bedsheets, sprawled all over the feather pillow. The contrast between the two very different colors irritated Isabelle's eyes, and she looked away. The mundane probably expected to wake up to her mundane life, which was dramatically destroyed in less than an hour and with one swoop.

"Yeah. I thought she was a pixie the first time we saw her." Then, quickly, she added, "She's not pretty enought to be a pixie, though."

"Well, no one looks their best with demon poison in their veins. Is Hodge going to call on the Brothers?"

Immediately, a face formed in her head; pale, pasty. Eyes hollowed out into nothing and mouth sewed shut. It's been done to block out outer forces and create peace within. Instead, it generates internal suffering, making Shadowhunters shiver at their mention. Isabelle forced the image away. "I hope not. They give me the creeps. Anyone who mutilates themselves like that-"

"We mutilate ourselves."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "I know, Alec. But when we do it, it isn't permanent. And it doesn't always hurt..."

"If you're old enough," she heard Alec scoff. "Speaking of which, where is Jace? He saved her, didn't he?" Alec didn't look that concerned, and he shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't care."

Isabelle scoffed. If he didn't have these nights of constant wake, he'd be all over this situation. "Sometimes I wonder if he-" Something shifted from under the bedsheets. As a Shadowhunter, Isabelle paused at the most tiniest things. After she realized it was the mundane, she exhaled. "Look! She moved!"

She ignored the change of expressions from Alec. "I guess she's alive after all," he sighed. "I'll tell Hodge."

Isabelle nodded, and with that, Alec left the room, not taking care to close the door quietly after him.

Alec barged into the library, making much commotion, that he didn't notice Hodge jump from an uncomprehending position. When he saw Alec walk in, he quickly straightened the loose articles around his desk and made himself appear above suspicion. Though he was still full of curiosity and concern on the look on Alec's face.

"The mundane is alive and well," he said, as if he didn't show any sign of irritation.

Hodge chuckled as Alec made his way to the couch in the middle of the room. He sat casually in one corner, one foot up and one foot on the ground, his arm slumped over its back. "You seem disappointed, Alec."

Alec shook his head in an attractive way that the sunlight bounced off of his silky dark hair. "What makes you say that?"

Hodge shrugged. "Well, for one, you're here, and not there now with Isabelle, assuring of her recovery."

It was silent between them for a while as Alec contemplated his argument and tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. After a while, Alec sighed. It was no hiding how he saw his relationship with the mundane.

"Not particularly. After she is in good health, she should be in a capable position of returning home," he reasoned.

"Her home was abolished. She has no nearby relatives, or anywhere to go. It would be polite to offer her shelter until she gets back on her feet."

"Does her mother or she not have close enough friends? It's appropriate that they provide her temporary homestead," Alec tried.

Hodge tended back to the papers on his desk, and dipped his pen in the ink. He was wearing a crooked grin and one of those warm expressions that Isabelle, Jace and Alec grew up with.

"Try getting that past Jace, Alec, and you'll work out something, I assure you," hodge said finally.

Alec stood up from the couch and headed for the wooden doors, exasperated. It seemed that what Hodge said was his permission to leave. Even if it wasn't, he had no conversation-starters. He needed silence, needed...training.

He just reached the doorway, his hand upon the steel rods, when Hodge said, "Oh, and Alec?" Alec twisted around. Hodge's eyes twinkled-.-which startled Alec, seeing that there was no light. "Good luck."

Alec didn't know what to say to that, so, with the same poise he had before, he carried on to the weapons room.

An hour later, Isabelle still could not find herself to leave the infirmary. She sat on that bed, deep in her thoughts. About Alec, about Jace, the named Clary, even about the Silent Brothers. She preferred not to think about that too long; she would always look around the room in caution, as if they would pop in any moment, after their horrid images would run through her mind.

Alec didn't come back; neither did Jace. She was alone with Clary in the silent room. She even thought the constant sight of white was making her slightly dizzy. She'd have to stare at the angel mural on the ceiling, and breathe, as if the walls closed in on her, leaving her breathless and claustrophobic. It was too quiet, even the car horns of New York in the distant seemed muted; the infirmary smelled of odd medicines and potions. Sunlight shone in through pink pastel curtains. She couldn't believe it was still ten in the morning; she felt that she was in the infirmary for a full day, when she was only there for three.

Every few minutes, the mundane would stir. She felt the only thing keeping her there now is the knowledge that Clary would wake up really soon.

None to her surprise, a moment later, she heard the mundane slowly, painfully, push herself up. When she did, Isabelle snapped her head back down and watched her recovery. She seemed to be dedicated in taking in the room, that she wouldn't have noticed Isabelle if she didn't speak up.

"So you're finally awake," she said, saying it more sourly than she intended. Maybe it was the hours of interminable silence that she forgot even how her own voice sounded. "Hodge will be pleased. We all thought you'd probably die in your sleep."

Clary looked at Isabelle as quickly as she could, but slowed down, as it seemed, when it pained her to do so. It took a while for her to take in the girl she had seen at Pandemonium. Isabelle didn't blame her; she probably expected Jace, the rugged blond who had saved her from Ravener poisoning, who brought her here to the Institute and yet didn't seem to visit and check up on his mundane.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, her voice still scratchy, and with the same annoyed tone Isabelle figured Clary heard her use. "Is this the Institute?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Is there anything Jace didn't tell you?"

Clary coughed, but what sounded to Isabelle as choking. She cringed in discomfort. "This is the Institute, right?" she tried, a little spark in her eyes.

"Yes. You're in the infirmary." She added, "Not that you haven't figured that out already."

Suddenly, the mundane's hand shot to her stomach and gasped. Isabelle's stomach jumped. She prepared to see Clary throw up, or faint again. Whatever it was, she had no desire to wipe it up or heal her back to health. She would have to fetch Hodge. Or Jace, if he cared.

"Are you alright?" she asked, panic in her voice.

She saw Clary swallow, a little unsteady, and her gaze went down to her hand. "My stomach," she said simply.

Isabelle exhaled. She remembered what Hodge had told her after he had put Clary to rest. That the mundane would be hungry after days of no intake. It's like going forward in time, but there were still effects like three days' worth of thirst, famine, and exhaustion.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." Isabelle jumped for the pitcher and poured a steamy brown liquid into a small cup. "Hodge said to give you this when you woke up. " She handed the cup to her, and she peered down into it. The moment she smelled its rich, thick scent, her pains seemed to be carried away with the steam. But it didn't seem to fulfill her hunger. "You haven't eaten in three days," Isabelle explained. "That's probably why you feel sick."

Clary tasted it. Her expression told Isabelle it worked. "What is this?"

"One of Hodge's tisanes. They always work."

Isabelle just slipped from the bed; no warning, no cause. Everything came in a rush, and she shot out her hands to restrain her fall. That's what she loved about being a Shadowhunter. Being one depended all on adrenaline and how fast your instincts were; but the job was purely made for you if you enjoyed the action and racing pulses.

"I'm Isabelle Lightwood, by the way. I live here."

"I know your name," she said, as if Isabelle hadn't just landed on the floor. "I'm Clary. Clary Fray. Did Jace bring me here?"

Isabelle nodded. "Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If he'd done it while my parents were here, he'd have gotten grounded for sure." She looked at Clary skeptically. "Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself."

Clary gulped down her drink and glanced over at Isabelle. "I guess I did."

"But you're a mundie," she said, as if it explained everything. What befuddled her, was that how a normal mundane like Clary know that the runes on the Sensor could incapacitate a demon. Or maybe she could've just shoved it down its throat, hoping that the thing would choke it. That would make more sense. Either way, it was still, to Isabelle's surprise, impressive.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she said, face in a semi-glow. "Where is Jace?" Is he around?"

Isabelle sighed inwardly. No one really knew these days. Instead, she shrugged, and said, "Somewhere. I should go tell everyone you're up. Hodge'll want to talk to you."

"Hodge is Jace's tutor, right?"

Isabelle did all she could to keep from rolling her eyes. Everything; Jace told her everything. All the mundie seemed to talk about was he.

"Hodge tutors us all." Then, before she could do harm, she pointed towards the bathroom. "The bathroom's through there, and I hung some of my old clothes on the towel rack in case you want to change."

Clary gathered the sheets up around her. "What happened to my clothes?"

"They were covered in blood and poison. Jace burned them," Isabelle was pleased to say.

Her face changed from embarrassed, as if she felt that she didn't belong and that her welcome was overstayed, to shocked and annoyed. "Did he? Tell me, is he always really rude, or does he save that for mundanes?"

Isabelle decided to play with this. "Oh, he's rude to everyone. It's what makes him so damn sexy. That, and he's killed more demons than anyone else his age."

She thought she got her. Clary's eyes widened, and she paled. She realized that was a mistake, when Clary said, "Isn't he your brother?"

It was Isabelle's turn to be baffled. She laughed out loud. "Jace? My brother? No. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, he lives here with you, doesn't he?"

She nodded, slowly. She didn't like where this was going. "Well, yes, but..."

"Why doesn't he live with his own parents?" That hit the spot. Isabelle found herself speechless and her retorted manner disappeared.

"Because," she said quietly, "they're dead."

Clary's mouth dropped open. "Did they die in an accident?"

Isabelle found herself uncomfortable. Jace never talked about his parents, so this was less of a forbidden subject and more of a non-existent matter, making it difficult to talk about.

"No, his mother died when he was born. His father was murdered when he was ten. Jace saw the whole thing." She hoped that the conversation was closed, now that she knew what happened. But, again, she was mistaken.

"Oh. Was it...demons?" she squeaked.

Isabelle stood up and headed for the door, as to that was the best way to avoid this.

"Look, I'd better let everyone know you've woken up. They've been waiting for you to open your eyes for three days." She opened the door, and stepped through. Just one more time. "Oh, and there's soap in the bathroom. You might want to clean up a little. You smell."

Clary shot her a glare. "Thanks a lot."

"Any time," she said sweetly and shut the door quietly.

Isabelle made her way to the library, a place where she knew Hodge was. She pushed the heavy wooden doors open and poked her head in.

"Hodge," she called. A movement from the far corner of the room was her reply. She stepped in, watching Hodge. His glasses were on crooked and he looked enticed in his book, but as he glanced up, he transferred his full attention on Isabelle. He was standing near the bookshelf; several leather-bound books lay open on his desk. Papers were strewn all over the floor. These were all signs that Hodge was starting a new research project. "The mundane-Clary-is awake. I sent her to get freshened up; I'll bring her here as soon as she does."

She scanned the room, looking for Alec. He was nowhere to be found.

"I hear she is very individualized, Isabelle. Why don't we have her tour the Institute for a little while?" he inserted the book he was skimming through back in its place on the shelf and sat down at his desk. "You look like you could use some sleep."

Isabelle shrugged. "Well, yes, but..."

Hodge waited, but Isabelle didn't continue. "...Yes...?"

"Do you know where Alec is?" she exclaimed. "I need him."

Hodge studied her expression, making Isabelle fidget at its intensity. When he finally spoke, "He was here earlier. He headed off either looking for Jace or off to where he normally goes when he needs to think." He sent her a gesture what they both knew meant. She turned on her heels to leave, when Hodge added, "Please get some rest, Isabelle. You look frazzled."

With a nod, she hurried out of the library to the training room.

Jace replayed the piece over and over again in frustration. His father had always played the piano perfectly, his hands glided across the keys in one swift motion. He couldn't see it in himself. Jace felt that he inherited only some of his father's traits. Music and art was not one of them. His mother, however, had had great talent, his father told him. She knew how to draw and paint and cook. How Jace doesn't have any of those talents, he doesn't know.

He was told several times that he got his Shadowhunter ability from his father, who was one of the best. But Jace believes he acquired the talent himself, seeing that the reason why he loved the job so much, was that it was a distraction. From his parents, from their death. He learned afterwards that not only was shadowhunting a convenience to him, but he also deeply loved the nonstop action and the feeling that you might die any minute. It sharpened your senses.

Taking a deep breath, Jace tried the piece his father taught him one more time.

He thought he was doing it right for once, and he continued, the song extending to every corner of the room. When finally Jace was not that much in his thoughts, he heard a soft intake of breath at the door. It was as if the small sound broke through his concentration and split the song in its construction. He turned around and squinted through the darkness, seeing the outline of a figure.

"Alec?" He hoped it was not the Inquisitor, or the Brothers. It would be quite a bother. He would have to explain that the mundane was still at rest and ask for an extension of time. "Is that you?"

He had not expected a small, female voice. "It's not Alec." The figure stepped out from the shadows, so that the sun exposed her features.

Red, tangled hair dangled loosely around her shoulders. Bags under her eyes were a sign of exhaustion. Her jeans were folded several times at her ankles and hung from her hips. The red shirt she wore was baggy and loose.

"It's me. Clary."

Jace was truly shocked. Astonished. He expected her not to wake up for a few more hours. The sight of her up and healthy-.-mostly-.-caught him off guard. He stood up, a little too quickly, hitting the piano on the way up. A Shadowhunter habit.

"Our own Sleeping Beauty," he teased, his hand on the piano cover. "Who finally kissed you awake?"

"Nobody," she replied. "I woke up on my own."

"Was there anyone with you?" The last he checked, Isabelle had stayed overnight at the infirmary.

"Isabelle, but she went off to get someone-.-Hodge, I think," she said. "She told me to wait, but-"

Jace could've laughed or smiled. "I should have told her about your habit of never doing what you're told." Clary raised an eyebrow, and he realized, with amusement, that he was also describing himself. She did not know that yet, though, Jace thought. He changed the subject. "Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you."

Clary scowled. "I could point out you burned _my_ clothes."

"It was purely precautionary," he slid the piano cover shut and padded over to where she stood. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

Isabelle opened the double doors quietly. The first thing she saw was the engraved walls, covered in ancient runes. Some were runes that Shadowhunters didn't use anymore. Metal shelves lined the walls, weapons Hodge said not to touch until turned a legal adult, to the weapons that were that simple as a seraph blade. In one corner, were discarded blades Isabelle and Alec used when they were little. In another corner was Alec's bow and arrows. A table stood against the far wall, different sizes of blades and swords scattered among its surface.

The floor was padded under her and the ceiling was carved along solid marble. There were no windows, so no outsiders could peer in, and only one entrance, so that there were no break-ins. There was Alec standing in a fighting stance, one blade in each hand, both glowing brightly. His back was to her.

Isabelle quickly pulled out her whip from her wrist, and dashed for Alec. The movement was too quick to see, she found herself in the middle of the room in one second. Before Alec could turn around, she had her whip uncoiled and it lashed out, splitting the air, so that all you saw was a flash of gold. Alec spun around, and caught sight of Isabelle in a small moment, so he had no time to react to her sudden appearance because Isabelle already lashed her whip the second time.

It had been too soon, too last-second for Alec to counter her offense. Instead, he dodged it swiftly, too quick for Isabelle's eyes to see. The next thing she saw was Alec yards away from where he was a second ago. Her whip scourged at the floor, leaving a deep groove on the padding, and her whip drooped at her feet. She leaped and landed close enough to him, so that she recoiled and shot out her whip again. This time Alec brought up one of the blades above his head, and the whip curled and wrapped around the weapon. She gave it a little tug and the weapon went flying out of his hand and it clanged onto the floor.

Alec flung his second blade in a javelin motion at her left shoulder; the blade cut through the small length of space between them. Isabelle missed it by centimeters, and the blade pierced the wall behind her. She stood up, slowly, the blade still vibrating in the wall behind her. She heard her quick breathing and rushing blood in her ears. Alec's chest was heaving rapidly as he watched Isabelle in confusion, as if he was taking her in, not getting the chance a few moments ago.

It was then that Isabelle knew that everything happened in seconds, so quick. It felt like minutes.

"Isabelle," Alec breathed, irritation in his voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

Isabelle chuckled in relief, coiling her whip around her wrist. "Just thought we would train like old times." Her voice sounded weird, it was because the spike of adrenaline was confusedly settling back. Her startled heart and stomach returned back to their normal pulses. She exhaled sharply and leaned against the wall, ripping the blade out of the wall. There were several deep hollows on it, evidence from many past training sessions gone wrong, or maybe even completely right.

"It's too much of a challenge for you to be training with me." Alec was suddenly next to her, his hand outstretched for the blade. She handed it to him, and he turned around to walk away.

"Then why don't you ever get out?" she said.

Alec stopped in his tracks and spun around, looking back at Isabelle. "What?"

She left her spot at the wall and took a step closer to him. "It's been a while since you went with Jace and me on a fight, Alec. We're starting to think something's wrong. It was years since we ever trained together, and I'm getting tired of training by myself!"

Alec was shaking his head. "There is nothing wrong. I just grew older."

"Is it-"

"Nothing," he enunciated. He shot a look at Isabelle that told her that he would not say anything more. Isabelle stared at him in concern, examining the brother she used to know so well. He had the same long lashes and long dark hair that wrapped around his ears and neck.

It had been a while since either one of them spoke up again. It was Isabelle. "Clary is awake, and is bound to find Jace," she said. "I heard him in the music room a while ago. Just thought I'd let you know."

Not looking at Isabelle, Alec said, "I have to speak with Hodge." He hurried over to the table on the other side of the room and set the dull blades down. The doors flung open, and he was gone, leaving Isabelle staring at the unused, pristine weapons.

**Please, R&R guys. It would make my day much better. I also want to know what my other fans think. If you're mad at me, or if you're not. The new viewers, also R&R and tell me if something's wrong, or what you liked about it :) I'll change any mistakes. Some ppl already know that. Anyway, here's my chapterly shout-out: I LUV U GUYS AND HOPE YOU'LL FORGIVE ME? I really miss you :/ ENjoy my MM's (Made myself's) and the original scenes.**


	8. Clave and Covenant P3

***Hey, guys(: sry for the year-long wait, but I've been working on my novel, and I'm so excited for it! I hope new fans find this chapter enticing just as much as I hope my older fans still do. **

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**Thanks for the votes(: Anyway, without further ADO, my chapter starts off with:**

"Why does this place have so many bedrooms?"

After a long silence from the music room to the grand hallway, this came as a surprise to Jace that Clary and not he would be the one to speak up first. In the beginning, he was a little relieved for the silence between them. He should've been polite and gave her a tour of the Institute, but was still exhausted from the night before and a little over-dazed to act as a tour guide.

Now, he looked around at the aging, ancient-looking hallway, designed carelessly; stone arches supported by wooden beams stretched out high above them and etchings of angels and swords marked the walls. There were no pictures or portraits on the walls or rugs on the floor; everything was bare. Every few yards is a door leading to a half-empty bedroom with only a stripped bed and wooden bedside table with the occasional wardrobe.

"I thought it was a research institute," she spoke up again.

Not being able to help himself, he answered, "This is the residential wing. We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here."

"But most of these rooms are empty," Clary pointed out.

Jace shrugged. "People come and go. Nobody stays for long. Usually it's just us-.-Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents-.-and me and Hodge."

"Max?"

"You met the beauteous Isabelle? Alec is her elder brother. Max is the youngest, but he's overseas with his parents."

"On vacation?" Clary asked, prying a conversation out of him.

"Not exactly," he said slowly, rummaging for the appropriate words that would make sense to her. "You can think of them as-.-as foreign diplomats, and of this as an embassy, of sorts. Right now they're in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young."

Clary nodded, or so it seemed. "Shadowhunter home country? What's it called?" she asked.

He hesitated for half a split second. "Idris."

"I've never heard of it."

Jace smirked. "You wouldn't have. Mundanes don't know about it. There are wardings," -he paused, then added- "protective spells, up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

"So it's not on any maps?" she asked.

"Not mundie ones. For our purposes you can consider it a small country between Germany and France."

"But there isn't anything between Germany and France," Clary said exasperatedly. "Except Switzerland."

"Precisely." Jace took the moment in their conversation to check where they were. A rise in the stone bore the familiar engraving Jace saw daily. The runes like bleeding ink against the angel's white dress and pale arms. The angel also had a blindfold, as a symbol of blindness and isolation, and the runes of Grace and Purity mark where the eyes should be. They were almost to the library.

"I take it you've been there," Clary interrupted his thoughts. "To Idris, I mean."

A great sense of dread washed over Jace as his thoughts drew back to the memory of Idris. Not only the home country of Shadowhunters all over the world, but also the birthplace, a place of precious memories and genuine history. A safe haven. He did his best to avoid the reminiscence of his father, and growing up there. But there are often times he is unwillingly alluded . . .

"I grew up there," Jace said. "Most of us do. There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always 'home.'"

Clary nodded slowly. "Like Mecca or Jerusalem." They turned the corner onto a short hallway, where a large doorway towered a few yards away. "So most of you are brought up there, and then when you grow up-"

"We're sent where we're needed," Jace finished. "And there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, with Hodge's training-" They approached the set of doors, and Jace's words trailed off. "This is the library."

Jace was watching Clary when he heard a yowl and felt something brush up against his ankle. He looked down at a pair of slitted yellow eyes.

"Hey, Church," he murmured, stroking the Persian cat's blue fur with his foot.

"Wait-" said Clary. "Alec and Isabelle and Max-they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?"

Jace paused. "Yes."

"That must get kind of lonely."

He half-shrugged, positioning his hands on the door's delicate paneling, said, "I have everything I need," and gave the doors a shove.

"I'm serious, Hodge, I don't trust her. It's safer if we send her on her way."

Hodge, chuckling, stroked his bird, Hugo. "Alec, don't get your own personal grudge in the way of true judgment. Besides, I have my suspicions. There is use for me of her."

"What suspicion is that?"

The double-doors swung open abruptly and in strolled Jace like he owned the place and behind him, a pretty, fragile girl with fiery red hair and small features. By looking at her, Hodge knew right away that she was a curious, adventurous girl with her own strengths. She looked at the myriad of ancient-looking books in wonder.

"A book-lover I see," Hodge smiled in a welcoming way. "You didn't tell me that Jace," he said as he noticed Jace walk up behind her in a possessive way. Even with Jace's well-guarded expression, Hodge saw the reluctance behind it and had the idea that Jace wanted Clary all for his own-to answer all his questions first.

Jace laughed. "We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance. I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up."

Clary turned around and did something that only made Jace grin wider. "How can you tell?" she asked, turning to face Hodge again. "That I like books, I mean."

Hodge shrugged and walked out from behind his desk. "The look on your face when you walked in," he said, studying the look on her face right then. From what expression she had when she walked in, it was now gone. She watched Hodge in horror as he stepped out of the shadows. Immediately, he felt exposed. Like retreating back behind his desk. Then he realized she had been looking at his shoulder-which, when he thought about it, might have looked misshapen to her-and took a step closer, watching her face soften with relief.

"This is Hugo," he gestured toward his shoulder where his faithful raven sat, silent. "Hugo is a raven, and, as such, he knows many things. I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history an, as such, I do not know nearly," he attempted a joke, winning a small laugh from the mundane.

Clary held out her hand and Hodge, regardless, shook it. "Clary Fray."

Hodge nodded. "Honored to make your acquaintance. I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands," he said, bringing up the conversation he couldn't wait to discuss.

"It wasn't my bare hands," she said meekly. "It was Jace's-.-well, I don't remember what it was called, but-.-"

"She means my Sensor," Jace assisted. Clary looked at him-.-due to familiarity, instinct, Hodge didn't know. "She shoved it down the thing's throat. The runes must have choked it. I guess I'll need another one . . . . I should have mentioned that."

"There are several extra in the weapons room," said Hodge absentmindedly, mostly trying to get rid of Jace for a few minutes. But he didn't wait for him to leave. Hodge gave Clary a warm smile. "That was quick thinking. What gave you the idea of using the Sensor as a weapon?"

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. Again, Hodge might add with bitterness.

"I can't believe you buy that story, Hodge," Alec cackled, turning the attention of the room. Clary studied him with deep interest, Jace with brotherly disdain, and Hodge edgy patience. Alec met all of their expressions evenly with one of his own.

Hodge raised an eyebrow and said, "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alec," hoping to get back on subject. It worked. Everyone turned all their attention back on Hodge. Even Clary, who looked over him curiously. "Are you suggesting she didn't kill that demon after all?"

Alec shot him a look of amusement. "Of course she didn't. Look at her-she's a mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that," he said as if that explained everything. "There's no way she took on a Ravener."

Jace looked as if he had something to say to that, but was interrupted.

"I'm not a little kid," Clary said as if she's rehearsed it several times. "I'm sixteen years old-.-well, I will be on Sunday."

"The same age as Isabelle," said Hodge as if he just made the biggest point. "Would you call her a child?"

Alec scowled. "Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history. This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

Clary's jaw dropped. "I'm from Brooklyn!" she yelled as if this was the greatest offense anyone could give her. "So what? I just killed a demon in my own house, and you're going to be a dickhead about it because I'm not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?"

"What did you call me?"

Hodge had to look away from Alec's face to keep from laughing. Even before he turned away, he caught a glimpse of Jace's amused countenance and look of admiration, what he wished to tell Alec washed away from his mind.

"She has a point, Alec," Jace laughed. "It's those bridge-and-tunnel demons you really have to watch out for-.-"

"It's not _funny_, Jace," Alec said, his face red and bloated. "Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?"

"Yes," Jace said, restraining another laugh. "It'll do you good-.-think of it as endurance training."

Alec growled. "We may be _parabatai_," he said acidly, "but your flippancy is wearing on my patience." Clary looked at Jace as if waiting for an answer.

"And your obstinacy is wearing on mine," he said, irritated. "When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?"

"Raveners are stupid," Alec replied quickly. "Maybe it got itself in the neck with its stinger. It's happened before-.-"

"Now you're suggesting it committed suicide?" Jace persisted.

Alec shot him a look that said that yes, he actually believed it did. "It isn't right for her to be here. Mundies aren't allowed in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that," he said. Then, as if realizing something, "If anyone new about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

"That's not entirely true," Hodge said, shooting Alec daggers, reminding him not to get personal grudges in the way of his research. "The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Clary's mother-.-she could well have been next."

Clary's face dropped at Hodge's words and Hodge hoped it would relive the subject at hand. To his satisfaction, it did.

"Raveners are search-and-destroy machines," Alec said. "They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" Alec shot Clary a look of dislike, as if she was a twist in one of his plans, and a disturbance in his routinely life. "Any thoughts?" he said, speaking to Hodge but not taking his eyes off of the mundane.

Clary must've thought he was talking to him, since she was the one who answered him. "It must've been a mistake."

Alec's full attention was on Clary now. "Demons don't make those kind of mistakes. If they were after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she was innocent-.-"

"What do you mean _innocent_?" Clary interrupted softly.

Alec was caught off guard. _You've done it now_, thought Hodge. "I-.-"

"What he means," Hodge saved Alec from thoroughly overthrowing his thought-out work, "is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind who might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon-.-they lack that power-.-but there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

Clary shook her head. "My mom doesn't know any warlocks. She doesn't believe in magic." Then, Clary's eyes widened slightly. "Madame Dorothea-.-she lives downstairs-.-she's a witch. Maybe the demons were after her an got my mom by mistake," her voice raised by the time she finished her sentence, making it sound more like she was asking a question.

Hodge treated it like a statement. "A witch lives downstairs from you?"

"She's a hedge-witch-.-a fake," Jace said, looking as if he's just awoken from a dream and sounding like he was still in it. "I already looked into it. There's no reason for any warlock to be interested in her unless he's in the market for nonfunctional crystal balls."

"And we're back where we began," Hodge sighed, stroking Hugo absentmindedly. "It seems the time has come to notify the Clave."

"No!" Jace said a little too quickly. "We can't-.-"

Hodge shook his head. If Clary has no more information than what she's already provided, then he has no more use for her . . . "It made sense to keep Clary's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover." Hodge shot Jace a glance to remind him of his encounter with the Inquisitor three days ago. "But now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed."

Hodge was surprised when, instead of retorting a reply about the Gard, or shooting back a glare, telling Hodge he didn't care about his talk with the Inquisitor, Jace fell silent, as if falling back into a dream.

"Absolutely," Alec said, beaming. "I could get a message to my father-.-"

"She's not a mundane," Jace murmured.

Hodge stopped moving, watching Jace in expectation. He heard Alec, distant, choke on his next words. Clary looked at Jace in confusion. Even Hugo seemed shaken by the idea and dug his claws deeper into Hodge's shoulder, making it hurt.

"But I am," Clary said, but her voice wavered, as if she wasn't exactly sure.

"No, you aren't," Jace said, recovering. He turned to Hodge as Clary raised an eyebrow. "That night-.-there were Du'sien demons, dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn't time to hide." Hodge also raised an eyebrow, wondering why Jace was purposely veering off his point. "She would have died. So I used my stele-.-put a _mendelin_ rune on the inside of her arm. I thought-.-"

"Are you _out of your mind_?" Hodge bellowed, slamming his hand down on his desk a little too forcefully. He could've spoiled everything! Everyone's plans! Jace flinched away and Clary and Alec jumped, backing away from the oncoming argument between the two. "You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundanes! You," -.-Hodge boiled-.- "you of all people ought to know better," he scolded, shaming Jace-.-but not into silence.

"But it worked," Jace said evenly. "Clary, show them your arm," he said, reminding Hodge of a defense lawyer in court, ready to present the winning evidence to the jury.

Hodge opened his mouth to scold him some more, telling Jace it didn't matter whether it worked or not. But when Clary shakily held out her arm, revealing three fading overlapping circles like scars, Hodge was sentenced to restraint, holding his breath and going pale.

"See," Jace boasted, like a young child finishing up his presentation at school. "It's almost gone. It didn't hurt her at all."

"That's not the point," Hodge said, a little more calmly-.-but still shaky-.-now. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken."

Alec, who looked disappointed, confused, and outraged at the same time, as if someone has just crushed his dreams, woken him up from sleep, and slapped him on the head hard, said, "I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunter can receive Covenant Marks-.-they _kill_ mundanes-.-"

Jace rolled his eyes. "She's not a mundane. Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood!"

"But I don't. I couldn't," Clary said, still sounding unsure.

"You must," he said, looking at Hodge. "If you didn't, that Mark I made on your arm-.-"

"That's enough Jace," Hodge said before Jace could explain any more. "No need to frighten her further."

Jace partly ignored his tutor. "But I was right, wasn't I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies."

Hodge prepared to tell Jace to stop-.-stop reminding Clary of her possibly-dead mother, stop blurting out their secrets-.-and stop frightening her. She looked pale enough as it is. But, ironically, the little mundie beat him to it.

"My mother wasn't a Shadowhunter!" she said.

"Your father, then," Jace tried. "What about him."

"He died," Clary returned. There was no emotion, no sadness. Not visible in her face, nor her eyes. She did not know him well enough, Hodge concluded of it. "Before I was born."

Jace flinched, and for a moment, Hodge felt sorry for him. It didn't last long, however, because Alec then spoke up.

"It's possible," he said with uncertainty, "if her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane-.-well, we all know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding."

It caught Hodge off guard. How Alec dropped his personal debate so quickly just to break the tension his _parabatai_ felt the most. He supported the idea that Clary just might be a Shadowhunter, and that it's possible she is able to _stay _at the Institute.

"My mother would have told me," Clary said, her face dropping, and Hodge knew it wasn't true.

"Not necessarily," Jace voiced Hodge's thoughts. "We all have secrets."

Clary's face blanked. "Luke," she said, then adding, "Our friend. He would know. It's been three days. He must be frantic. Can I call him? Is there a phone I can use?" She turned to Jace. "Please."

Jace gazed at her for a moment, thinking about something, then looked to Hodge for help. Hodge, finding the name, Luke, extremely familiar, nodded a little too quickly for his taste, and shifted his leg, revealing his old-fashioned telephone that he did not have the privilege to replace.

Clary advanced forward slowly, as if the phone were a bomb that might explode any moment. She brought the receiver to her ear and even carefully dialed in the numbers that she looked to be hard to remember.

Nevertheless, five seconds later, she spoke to someone on the other line. "Luke!" she cried out desperately. "It's me. It's Clary." There was a pause. "I'm fine; I'm sorry I didn't call you before . . . ."

Hodge studied the way Jace watched the mundane. In his face, he found concern and a mere schoolboy's curiosity. Perhaps, there is something else visible under his hard, shielded emotions: interest, admiration, a sense of responsibility for this mundie girl he's brought home to toy around with.

Alec, on the other hand, seemed to do the same, watching Jace, determining his expressions and putting one on of the complete opposite. He displayed nonchalance, bitterness, magnified attitudes Hodge has seen Alec almost always have.

"But I don't want to stay here," Clary's voice cut through Hodge's thoughts. He turned around to see Clary, her cheeks glimmering with tears "I don't know these people. You-.-," she broke off, listening to the other end, and she seemed to choke on her next words, "-.-I'm sorry. It's just-.-"

There was another silence, and Clary stared at the phone as if Luke would call again to apologize and indeed ask to take her home, where she wouldn't have to deal with this world, live as if nothing had happened, and her mom had just gone to an art museum in Brooklyn. She could again be one of the mundies, who saw nothing, hear nothing, and know nothing about the evils that lurk around them every minute of the day.

But that won't happen. She knows, and too much to be certain. Clary can never go through a normal life again, even once she clears her mother's disappearance, there is still much secrets she's already revealed.

Hodge shot a glance at Jace, who surprisingly wasn't watching Clary in curiosity anymore, but more as if he were watching the phone still in Clary's hands with relief.

"I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?" Jace spoke first.

Clary, though looking as if permanently broken, scowled ferociously at Jace.

"I think I'd like to have a talk with Clary," Hodge said. He saw Jace's face brighten, then eyed him, adding in, "Alone."

Alec, a little too excitedly, jumped up, thinking Hodge was to talk to Clary of another, temporary homestead. "Fine. We'll leave you to it," he said, disguising his voice and heading toward the door. He stopped, however, waiting for Jace. But Jace looked disinterested in leaving.

"That's hardly fair! I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life!" he objected, then turned to Clary. "You want me here, don't you?" he asked, waiting anxiously for her answer. Clary turned away, and Hodge thought Jace might've hurt her feelings somehow.

Alec chuckled. "Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace."

"Don't be ridiculous." There was a silence as Jace waited for Clary. Hodge thought Jace could've been waiting for her to change her mind, or glaring at her like someone would do a traitor. Hodge didn't know, and he didn't find out, for a moment later, Jace shifted his glance to Hodge. His eyes were full of suspicion. "Fine. We'll be in the weapons room," he finally said, then turned around to leave.

A moment later, the door shut behind them and Hodge and Clary were left alone in the library. It was awkward for a moment as they met each other's eyes, and was still awkward even when Hodge moved to sit down, asking her to do the same.

She wiped away her tears embarrassedly. "I don't cry much usually. It doesn't mean anything. I'll be all right in a minute," she said.

Hodge nodded. "Most people cry when they're upset or frightened, but rather when they're frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You've been through a most trying time?" he said, trying to be comforting.

"Trying?" Clary said, puzzled. "You could say that."

He dragged his chair over and sat down directly in front of her, more to create a paternal, warming mood. "Is there anything I could get for you?" he offered. "Something to drink? Some tea?"

"I don't want tea," she muttered. "I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and I want to kill them."

Hodge sighed. "Unfortunately," he said, "we're all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing."

Clary stared at the hem of her shirt, shaking her head, obviously not in the mood for refreshments. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

Hodge needed information. He needed to know why this strange girl just suddenly came along and claimed she saw what others could not. What Hodge desired to find out was her heritage and her connections. And when he was finished, personally ask Jace to escort her out.

"You could start with telling me a little about what happened," he said. _And we'll work our way in._ He removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and lent it to Clary, who stared at him in amazement. "The demon you saw in your apartment-was that the first such creature you'd ever seen?" he inquired, ignoring the way she looked at him. "You had no inkling such creatures existed before?"

"One before," Clary said, thinking, and her answer made Hodge's stomach jump. "But I didn't realize what it was. The first time I saw Jace-"

Hodge's face dropped. "Right, of course, how foolish of me to forget," he said. "In Pandemonium. That was the first time?"

"Yes."

"And your mother never mentioned them to yout?" he pried. "Nothing about another world, perhaps, that most people cannot see? Did she seem particularly interested in myths, fairy tales, legends of the fantastic-.-"

"No. She hated all the stuff." Hodge straightened in his chair, disappointed. "She even hated Disney movies. She didn't like me reading manga. She said it was childish."

"Most peculiar," Hodge said.

"Not really," Clary said, her lips in a tight line. "My mother wasn't peculiar. She was the most normal person in the world."

Perhaps, that was what made her the most unusual. Hodge shook his head. "Normal people don't generally find their homes ransacked by demons."

"Couldn't it have been a mistake?"

"If it had been a mistake, and you were an ordinary girl, you would not have seen the demon that attacked you," Hodge said, speaking mostly to himself. "Or, if you had, your mind would have processed it as something else entirely: a vicious dog, even another human being." He continued talking to himself, in a daze. "That you could see it...that it spoke to you..." _It's something altogether._

"How did you know it spoke to me?" Clary asked, surprising Hodge.

"Jace reported that you said 'it talked.'"

Clary nodded, accepting the answer. "It hissed. It talked about wanting to eat me, but I think it wasn't supposed to."

Raveners are generally under the control of a stronger demon," he said, talking to himself again, as if reciting a poem he was required to memorize by heart. "They're not very bright or capable on their own." He glanced at Clary, as if realizing she was there. "Did it say what its master was looking for?"

Clary's eyes seemed to roll to the back of her head in thought. "It said something about a Valentine, but-"

Hodge only realized he startled at the name when he noticed Clary had stopped talking, and looked at him as if he might drop down with a heart attack any moment. "Valentine?" he hissed. What did Valentine need with any mundane girl's mother? Unless...

"Yes," she said, still cautious. "I heard the name in Pandemonium from the boy-I mean, the demon-"

Yes, he rather quite saw it now. Would it hurt to tell her anything?

"It's a name we all know," Hodge spoke shakily. He felt something heavy settle on his shoulders, and realized Hugo had not been there a moment ago.

"A demon?"

"No, Valentine is-" Hodge interrupted himself, and, clearing his throat, said, "-was, a Shadowhunter."

Clary shook her head, confused. "A Shadowhunter? Why do you say 'was?'"

"Because," Hodge answered after a while, finally coming up with the connection. Of course...how could he have not seen it before? "He's been dead for sixteen years," he lied. Hodge looked Clary up and down.

She looked so much like her mother.

"Jace, how could you?"

Jace whirled around to face Alec, who hadn't even took one step away from the door. He searched Alec's face, but found nothing, as usual. They might be _parabatai_, but sometimes, Alec was just as unreadable as when they first met as little boys. It took Jace a while to realize Alec was talking about Clary.

He shrugged, walking on. Alec fell in beside him. "Are you talking about the fact I brought a mundane-who might rather not be so mundanely-into our forbidden homestead, or when I accepted the fact you were verbally defeated by a _female_?"

"I preferably thought we were discussing _both_," Alec replied, more acid-like than returning Jace's humor.

The two passed under a marked archway and descended down a worn-out staircase, that would've collapsed if it weren't for the architects' exceptional work of building a sturdy support for it. They walked deeper down a naked hallway.

"I thought I thoroughly proved her not a mundie," Jace said impatiently. "By the Law, she's legally allowed to stay as long as she needs-"

"Your actions were rash!" Alec interrupted, knowing Jace could go on forever. "Even when you Marked her-Jace, she might not be as she seems! She may never leave..."

"Then I'll make permanent arrangements for her to stay with me in my room," Jace mocked. Alec scowled, causing Jace to grin.

"I'm serious, Jace," Alec said through gritted teeth, as they approached the weapons room.

"What harm could she be?" Jace said, ignoring Alec's low grumbles. "I feel a curiosity. I want her to stay as long as it takes me to know more about how she has the Sight. Until then, she'll have her mother and her home back and Hodge will have found out everything about her and have her out of here in no time." Jace swung the door to the weapons room open, revealing a whitish glow with silver and black gleams of every displayed weapon inside. Alec heard the dread in Jace's voice at the mention of Clary's leaving. It's what scared him the most.

"Tolerate her until then, can you do that, Alec? For me, for _parabatai_?"

It was a silent for a while, just the two of them still as statues, staring at each other as Jace awaited Alec's answer.

Finally, Alec sighed. "You know, Jace, speaking of which, I believe that term is under question at the moment..." Alec said, reluctantly giving in.

Jace gave Alec his wickedest grin.

Clary nodded, visibly tired after everything that happened today and what she took in just then. Hodge told her everything: the history of the Circle, that Valentine was in it, the Mortal Instruments, the signing of the accords...Suddenly, she stood.

"Is there any chance I could go home?" she asked abruptly.

Hodge stared up at her at first, stunned into silence, then shook his head. "No, I-.-I wouldn't think that would be wise." If he let her leave now, he might not see her again.

"There are things I need there! Even if I'm going to stay here," Clary objected. "Clothes-"

"We can give you money to purchase new clothes."

"Please," Clary pleaded, trying a different angle. "I have to see if-I have to see what's left."

Hodge looked into her eyes, then, and a sudden despair grew inside him. Allowing her to go back is what is right, but he still couldn't let her go alone. And another thing he knew is that Jace would never let her out of his sight.

Hodge nodded. "If Jace agrees to it, you may both go." He shuffled through his papers, looking for a blank scrap, then remembered something. He looked up, saw Clary still there, and said, "He's in the weapon's room."

Clary simply said, "I don't know where that is."

Hodge gestured toward the doorway, where Church sat waiting. "Church will take you."

He didn't wait for her to leave the room before he found a piece of available paper, and began writing. His wrist hurt after a while from the urgency of the written note. An hour later, he threw the note into the fireplace, watching the flames explode with the burden. For a while, he stood there, breathing in the warmth of the flames. It reminded him of the old days. Images-horrid images-suddenly flashed through his mind, forcing Hodge to open his eyes and shake them off.

Moment forgotten, Hodge strode back over to his desk and reached for another piece of paper. _I've found her._


	9. Forsaken

**Hey, guys****J**** TWO YEARS. It's been that long since I last posted a chapter on this story, and it's been that long I've kept my readers waiting. I think we all know how distracted we can get when it comes to writing. Two years ago, I entered high school, and you know how busy it can get. Well, hello, summer, and hello another two months of posting more chapters for my readers to enjoy ****J**

**I briefly looked back through the chapters I already posted and cringed at the way I wrote back then xD It's impressive for a fourteen-year-old, but sentence flow was NOT my major back then. So here I am today, my writing slightly different than my other chapters. All my newer readers, if you've read the chapters before this one, you're in for some change. It's okay, though, good change ;) **

**Enjoy my newest post :D**

The door opened and closed, its sound echoing against all the steel and metal walls of the weapons room. Jace quickly looked up from Semangelaf, much to Alec's irritation. The mundie girl strode to them, standing out an awful lot with her red hair against the silver and black. She was staring in awe at the myriad of weapons on the walls.

"Where's Hodge?" Jace asked her.

Clary looked at Jace, as if she just realized he was there. For Jace, it was a new experience. "Writing to the Silent Brothers," she said finally.

Jace raised an eyebrow, surprised at how much she knew already, and Alec shuddered. He noticed Clary's interest in the three blades before them. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Jace moved to the side. "Putting the last touches on these-.-Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They're seraph blades." He ignored Alec's warning glare.

"They don't look like knives," she noted, obviously unaware of Alec's disapproval. She could be ignoring Jace's friend, already a few days before Jace had begun doing the same, back when he first met Alec. "How did you make them? Magic?"

Alec shot Clary a disgusted look, looking as if he had something to say to that. "The funny thing about mundies," Jace said, amused, "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."

"I know what it means," Clary snapped, offended.

"No, you don't, you just think you do." He turned back to the blades. "Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish."

"I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish," Clary cried, outraged. "You-.-"

Jace cut her off before she could finish her sentence. He smirked. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it?" he said, taking pride in the mundie's frustration. "And God helps the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie[sic]."

What Clary said next caught him off guard. "You're driveling."

"I'm not," Jace returned.

Alec sighed and laid his weapon down. "Yes," he interfered. "You are." Jace feigned offense, and Alec ignored him, turning to Clary yet not looking at her. "Look, we don't do magic, okay? That's all you need to know about it."

Jace watched as Clary fought back a retort, took a breath, and faced him. "Hodge said I could go home."

He had pricked himself with the tip of Semangelaf, and the blade nearly slipped from Jace's careful hands to clatter on the ground. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Alec roll his eyes.

Jace restrained a curse. "_He said what?_"

"To look through my mother's things," Clary said, seemingly unaffected by his reaction.

A line of thoughts played through his mind. First, shock that Hodge would allow Clary to walk straight back into the face of danger, fear for what the mundie girl could possibly find amongst the rubble of what was left of her home, then sympathy. He also felt anger with Hodge's easy dismissal of the girl's life-.-as if he meant for the Clave to find her, wandering around where she would likely be found.

Jace won't let her go, not while he was still alive. Not without protection.

Alec raised an eyebrow, reading his best friend's face. "Jace," he exhaled, knowing he already made his decision.

"If you really want me to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things." Clary corrected herself. "What's left of them."

Jace grinned, noticing the 'we' in her argument. He ignored the disapproval in Alec's eyes. "Down the rabbit hole," he said, recalling a similar such as this one. "Good idea. If we go now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight," he estimated.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Alec asked, moving to get up.

Jace was already nearly out the door when he finally said no. "Clary and I can handle this on our own." At his side, Clary cringed as she shut the door behind them. He tried not to worry too much about his friend's constant hostility towards mundanes. Jace had already gotten used to the behavior; even at times did the things that annoyed Alec most, just to get something out of him other than morose.

Behind him, Clary strived to keep up. "Have you got your house keys?" he asked. Clary gave affirmation. "Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did."

"If you say so." The two approached the elevator-.-a metal gate lodged into the wall. A small button protruded from the wallpaper, and it lit up when Jace strode over to push it. "Jace?"

"Yeah," he said.

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there a way you could tell?"

Jace smirked as he wrenched the gate open. The elevator met them with a final lurch and it protested as it adjusted to his and Clary's weight. He recalled the night before, when indecision nagged at his mind. Jace was more than sure that the stele would work on her, but then again, what if it hadn't?

"I guessed," he answered. "It seemed like the most likely explanation."

"You guessed," Clary repeated slowly. "You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

Jace sent the elevator downstairs, the vibrations sending chills through his body. "I was ninety percent sure."

"I see." Something in her voice made him look up at her. Before he knew what was happening, Clary's hand met the side of his face with a crack, and he recoiled in surprise. Jace laid a hand on his throbbing cheek.

"What the hell was that for?" he cried.

Clary turned away, never looking at him the rest of the ride down. "The other ten percent."

* * *

Jace avoided looking at Clary the whole way to Brooklyn, still holding a grudge over the red mark on his cheek. Clary, in turn, took residence in the silence, brooding over thoughts probably on the task at hand, or on her missing mother.

On the public train, the girl suddenly looked at Jace, as if studying his face. He couldn't prolong his silent treatment if he wanted to, and he stared right back into her eyes. Clary didn't shy away. "Can I help you with something?"

She nodded towards the opposite end of the train. "Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you."

Jace smirked. "Of course they are. I am stunningly attractive."

A look of irritation passed through the girl's face. "Haven't you heard modesty is an attractive trait?"

"Only from ugly people," Jace laughed. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me," he said, winking at the giggling girls who oddly appeared to have orange skin. One of the girls blushed harder, turning her bright skin a red shade.

Making Clary fight back amused Jace more than it should have, and he decided that this mundie interested him more than the others did. To be honest, before Clary brought them up, he hadn't noticed his admirers—who looked like they were about to work up the courage to approach him. His mind was preoccupied with who this seeing mundane could be, what she could do who ordinary humans could not.

"How come they can see you?" Clary asked, resigned.

Jace shook himself off. "Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother."

The train finally came to a stop in Brooklyn, Jace was relieved to be out of the car before the girls could send over another wave of their perfume. The floral-free air significantly lightened his mood. He began fiddling with the stele, figuring they were far enough away to avoid being seen with the weapon. He started humming.

"Do you have to do that?" Clary asked. "It's annoying."

Jace tired of his dangerous plaything and pocketed it, but when he realized Clary complained about the tune that escaped his lips . . . well, he just hummed louder.

"I'm sorry I smacked you!" Clary threw up her arms.

He was startled into silence, and smiled. "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you back."

"He seems to be itching for the chance," Clary mumbled, looking uneasy. "What was it that Alec called you? Para-something?"

"_Parabatai," _said Jace, thinking of Alec. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together-.-who are closer than brothers. Alec is more than my best friend. My father and his father were _parabatai_ when they were young. His father was my godfather-.-that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family."

Clary looked up. "But your last name isn't Lightwood."

"No," Jace said simply. He would have said more, but then the apartments came into view and he could feel the girl beside him tense as she took in how normal the landscape looked.

"It looks the same," she said finally.

"On the outside," Jace shrugged, and drew out his Sensor. He caught Clary gazing at it.

"So that's a Sensor? What does it do?"

"It picks up frequencies," Jace said subconsciously, working the controls on the device to startup a scan. "Like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Demon shortwave?" he heard the mundie say, almost smug with her pun.

A layout of their surroundings popped up on the screen and it started beeping faintly, telling Jace that a strip-down was in progress. "Something like that." Jace walked toward the building, following the rapid beeps around the dark, dank hallways until it stopped at the staircase. He frowned. "It's picking up trace activity, but that could be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now."

"Good."

Jace stored away the Sensor, determined that they were okay. For now. He turned, about to say something sarcastic, when he was stopped by the expression on Clary's face.

She was studying a set of deep indentations on the front door, her face pale as her imagination wandered with what might have been the monster that left them there. Judging on the claw marks, he sized up the size and cruelty of the demon, but a strong feeling of sympathy weighed him over, and he took a step toward her.

"I'll go first," he said, touching her shoulder. Clary twisted around, giving a slight nod, and he pushed the door open with a creak. He ushered her in.

Jace waited for his sight to adjust to the darkness, and the hall revealed a series of chipped wooden doors that appeared to have been worn to sawdust. The carpet was littered with glass shards, dust, and slabs of wood. A broken bulb flickered from above them, and . . . He ran two fingers along the banister and it came away wet with the stench of demon. "Blood," he said aloud.

"Maybe it's mine," Clary's voice cracked. "From the other night."

He shook his head. "It would be dry by now if it were. Come on." Jace headed for the staircase, Clary close behind. When they reached the right apartment, she fumbled in the darkness for a while with the lock, that Jace leaned over her shoulder to give her a look of concern and impatience.

The lock finally clicked open and Jace pulled Clary back, noticing the clammy and cool feel of her skin. "I'll go in first," he offered. At first she hesitated, but then she stepped aside, allowing him passage into her home.

The room was empty. The walls were empty, the floors were empty. The kitchen was empty of its appliances, and the cabinets were cleaned out. The living room was empty of curtains and furniture, anything that was proof that a girl and her mother had once made their home here.

But something was evident to Jace that Clary could not rule out. He narrowed his eyes at every sign of struggle that was plastered on areas of the wall, the dirty carpet. Cracks lined all eight corners of the living room, and black stained the baseboard moldings—the only evidence left behind seeing as the wallpaper was stripped down by whoever was in a hurry to leave.

Clary cleared her throat from the kitchen. "What would demons," she said when Jace glanced over, "want with our microwave?"

Jace scoffed. "I don't know, but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now. I'd say they're long gone," he said, turning his back on the room. "Are you satisfied? There's nothing here."

"I want to see my room," Clary persisted with a shake of her head.

At first, Jace opened his mouth to argue against her seeing the supposed horror of her room, but then something dawned on him. He would have to grow used to Clary's stubbornness, moreover.

He shrugged. "If that's what it takes," he said, and followed her down the hallway to her bedroom. Jace watched as she reached for the doorknob . . . and sucked in a gasp. He eyed the edges of the door, catching glutinous syrup seeping through the cracks. All of a sudden, the air around them dropped and the cold sent an eerie shiver down Jace's back.

So cold it nearly hurt.

Jace opened his mouth to warn Clary, but then the door exploded. A torrent of debris spit off of the damaged plaster and from within the bedroom. Chunks of wood scraped his face and arms before he flattened himself against the far wall. The familiar course of adrenaline caused him to cry out in excitement just as a huge lug of an ugly creature emerged from the makeshift opening. The monster's large, rotting mass towered over Jace and it raised a beefy hand clutching a bloody axe, and he gagged at the repulsive stink. Its eyes were only for him.

Jace whipped out his seraph blade and raised it toward the giant. "Sansanvi!" he yelled, and a glowing, crystal blade shot out from a glowing hilt. Jace slashed at the creature just to confuse it, and it toppled backward. Taking advantage of its loss in step, Jace hauled Clary to her feet and raced down the hall with her in front. A few seconds later, the creature seemed to remember its escaping victims and raced after them with footsteps that shook the entire building.

As soon as they reached the landing, Jace whirled to see the giant fumbling down the staircase with its axe above its head. He slammed the door in its face just as it brought its arm down with a roar. The blow nearly split the wood in half.

Jace fought the nagging thought constantly tugging at his brain, and suddenly turned to Clary. "Get downstairs!" he ordered. "Get out of the-.-"

The blast nearly knocked him off of his feet. Jace threw himself against the staircase right as the door flew off its hinges and crashed against the far wall. The floor tremored from underneath the creature's gnarly feet, barging into the room and making its way toward him. Jace glanced at Clary, relieved the thing hadn't taken notice of her. He shouted for her to find an escape, but was then drowned out by the enraged roar of the monster as it sent its axe flying straight towards Jace's head.

He felt the blade embed itself into banister behind his head with a _thump_-a silver glint right above the tips of his hair as he fell to the floor in a crouch. Jace had been so close to dying, he almost felt the blade slicing the skin around his neck. A feeling of relief and overwhelming adrenaline fought its way up and he released a laugh-.-so obnoxious the monster faltered a moment in all its rotting glory.

The excitement Jace found so addicting returned, giving him newfound strength. He slashed at the giant as it fumbled its way closer to him, hands outreached and grasping at thin air. Jace brought the blade down in an arc and plunged it into the muscle between the creature's neck and shoulder. The thing shuddered as a stream of blood gushed out from the seraph blade and stained Jace's fingers with black.

That nagging feeling that reminded him of Clary drifted-.-no, not drifted. Thrust-.-back. For the moment Jace was distracted, the giant thing willed for one last fight, and it threw itself against Jace. He shook off the thought quickly and moved aside, but didn't move away in time. The creature tackled him to the floor, and he cried out as each stair-step grinded his back-.-one, two, three. And then he was on the floor, still as he relished in the passing pain that kept him conscious. The stench of the creature didn't overwhelm him as much now, but he couldn't fight back a gag when the smell crawled its way into his throat. Something light pats his shoulder, but the pain in his lower abdomen and legs dragged him lower.

"Jace?" Someone with a light, gently voice spoke with urgency.

He forced himself to open his eyes against the drowsiness. Clary crouched over him applying slight pressure on his shoulder with her palm. Her bright red hair against the despairing darkness was like an anchor-.-slowing tugging him back to awareness. She kept glancing at her hand, where pockets of blood oozed from underneath her fingertips.

Jace let out a groan. "Is it dead?"

"Almost." Clary grimaced.

"Hell." He shifted despite the gargantuan weight. "My legs-.-"

"Hold still," she ordered, holding him down. Jace closed his eyes and heard as Clary's footsteps made their way to his head. She hitched her hands under his arms and began towing him out from underneath the creature. He began to wonder why Clary hadn't left the building yet, when a jolt of raw pain paralyzes his left arm. The room spun once, twice, and Jace let out a groan.

"Is your arm all right?" Clary asked, letting him down.

Jace eased up slowly, wincing before he shifted his weight toward his right arm. "No," he said. "Broken. Can[sic] you reach into my pocket?"

A brief look of hesitation crossed Clary's features, and then it was gone. "Which one?

"Inside jacket, right side," Jace gestured with his chin. "Take one of the seraph blades and hand it to me." Clary cautiously slipped her hand into his jacket pocket. He can see in her expression that she was taking the extra effort of avoiding too much feeling around. Her mouth was so close to his Jace could hear the unevenness in her breath. Red hair fell over her cheek and a sweet waft of strawberries drifted his way. Finally her hand came away and she held out another one of the dim tubes.

"Thanks," he said, and whispered to its hilt a new name: Sanvi. A wicked glow bathed Jace's face in light and he looked straight past its edge to Clary, who was admiring the blade as if it were enchanted. Something caught in his throat as he realized the depth of her innocence. "Don't watch," he warned, and kneeled over the creature's carcass. Jace raised the blade above his head regardless of the dulling twinge of his arm, and brought it down onto a spray of blood and muck. Jace made a noise of consummation.

Jace crawled away from the seeping mess and saw from the corner of his eye how wide-eyed and shocked Clary looked. He took a better glance at her and saw that was all that he saw in her-.-no fear, no disgust-.-just curiosity.

"I told you not to watch," he said impassively, moving to remove his jacket.

"I thought it would disappear," she said, still gazing at the thing as if it were about to do exactly what she expected. "Back to its own dimension-.-you said."

Jace winced and a hand flew to his injured shoulder. "I said that's what happens to demons when they die. That wasn't a demon." A brief moment of confusion crossed Clary's face, but that was it. She paid more attention to the wand-like tool he had pulled out of his belt and held up to her.

"This is a stele." With the stele, he traced the Mark that granted him heightened senses-.-five points of a star representing five of the senses. He regarded the unnatural, foreign rune on his arm, as if it were incomplete or broken. Two of the arms stretched out, almost a full girth around his upper arm, disconnected from the rest of the Mark. It indicated his sensual and sight impairment. "This is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded."

As if in desperation, he touched the tip of the stele against the two outstretched arms, tracing over the dark rune and finishing it. Jace watched his drawing, suspended in the air, and dissolved into his skin with no more than a release of tension and a pale blemish where the arms of the star where now intertwined. The pain gradually left his body, and he flexed his muscle with a release of breath.

"That's amazing," Clary exclaimed. "How did you-.-?"

"That was an _iratze_-.-a healing rune." Where you'd expect the healing process to drain away a warrior's energy, this healing mark not only repairs the body, but the soul. It cleans the user all throughout so that they feel reborn-.-and can go on fighting forever. In Jace's perspective, this includes talking. "Finishing the rune with the stele activates it," he said, stashing away the wand and shrugging his jacket back on. He prodded at the giant with his toe. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge. He'll freak out," he realized with satisfaction. The thought of Hodge going red in the face because his precious mundie had her heart almost ripped out made him feel smug. _You're the one_, he could almost hear himself replying, _who sent her back to her death_. Oh, the reaction on his face when Jace said that.

"Why will he freak?" Clary asked. "And I get that that thing isn't a demon-.-that's why the Sensor didn't register it, right?" Understanding marked her features.

Jace nodded. "You see the scars all over its face?" He waited until she gave affirmation, and gestured to the wand at his belt. "Those were made with a stele. Like this one. You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this," he said, gestured toward the corpse. "The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane-.-the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. They don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good-.-but they can't be used for evil," he explained. "The Forsaken are evil."

Clary's eyes were wide. "But why would anyone do that to themselves?"

"Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them. By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. They can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a-.-," he stepped over the dead Forsaken, and glanced over his shoulder at her, "-.-a slave army."

Jace began making his way to the stairs. "I'm going back upstairs."

"But there's nothing there," Clary said.

"There might be more of them," he said, almost hopefully. "You should wait here."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A high, crackly voice stopped him. Jace spun around from atop the staircase, a hand positioned above his seraph blade. Before him stood an old woman, grinning sinfully from her apartment door. She was dressed in an excess of purple silk and gold chains. Her thick hair fought to be free of the pins that held it up in a bun. The woman took a small step forward. "There are more of them where the first one came from."

"Madame Dorothea?" Clary said.

The old woman-.-Dorothea-.-glanced at his companion for just a brief second. She seemed to find her uninteresting, and turned her attention back to Jace.

"But . . ." Jace began. How much had she seen?

"More _what_?" asked Clary.

"More Forsaken," Dorothea replied, laughing, and Jace recoiled in surprise. How? She was a mundie! Even when he passed her apartment, smelling of incense and lemons, did Jace find her an innocent entrepreneur just pretending to be some mystical being to help her deceiving business.

Madame Dorothea scanned the entryway. "You have a mess, haven't you?" Madame Dorothea scolded, enjoying herself. "I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning up either. Typical."

"But you're a _mundane,_" Jace finally finished. He demanded an explanation, and made sure to show it in his expression.

Dorothea grinned. "So observant. The Clave really broke the mold with you."

At the mention of the Clave, Jace relaxed, but only slightly. So she knew about the Clave; she must be somehow involved with the Shadowhunters-.-a relative, where a trace of Shadowhunter blood runs through her history; maybe even a Downworlder's great granddaughter. Either way, she had no power against them.

"You know about the Clave?" Jace asked forcefully. "You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house and you didn't notify them?" He was angrier about why she hadn't warned them. "Just the existence of a Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant-.-"

Madame Dorothea dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. "Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," she growled, and for a moment, Jace thought he heard a familiar accent in her voice. "I owe them nothing."

"Jace, stop it," Clary said, and he looked at her. She faced the old woman. "If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken, then maybe you know what happened to my mother." Clary said it in the form a question, pleading with Jace doesn't know what.

Pity crossed the woman's features, and she tried to hide it. "My advice to you," she said to her, "is to forget about your mother, She's gone."

Clary paled. Jace stared suspiciously at the woman, wondering what made her think to give up that easily. "You mean she's dead?"

"No," Madame Dorothea said. "I'm sure she's alive. For now." Clary's face whitened even further, so Jace made his way down to stand beside her and he touched her shoulder.

"Then I have to find her," Clary said quickly, ignoring him and turning to Dorothea. "You understand? I have to find her before-.-"

Madame Dorothea stopped her. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

"You knew my mother," Clary cried. "She was your neighbor-.-"

"This is an official Clave investigation," Jace said with as much authority as he can muster. He thought of Imogen, the Inquisitor, and couldn't help shuddering. "I can always come back with the Silent Brothers."

"Oh, for the-.-" she cried against their protests. She took a quick look towards her room and told Jace and Clary, "I suppose you might as well come in. I'll tell you what I can." She started making her way inside, but paused on the threshold and glared at him. "But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you'll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms."

Jace knew this was an empty threat. "That might be nice, an extra pair of arms. Handy in a fight."

"Not if they're growing out of your . . . neck," Dorothea grinned, as if imagining this.

"Yikes," Jace feigned discomfort.

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland," and she whisked away into her apartment, her dress slapping at Jace's arm. He paused, for a moment actually uncomfortable.

Clary raised an eyebrow at him. "Wayland?"

"It's my name," he said. "I can't say I like that she knows it."

He glanced inside with Clary, spotting glimpses of decorative furnishings here and there. Oddly, something metallic and bitter wafted its way to him, causing him to wrinkle his nose.

"Still," Clary said, her voice rising, "I think we might as well try talking to her. What have we got to lose?"

Jace fought back a snort. "Once you've spent a bit more time in our world, you won't ask me that again."

**Yay, first chapter in a while all finished :D I hope you all enjoyed, and I want you all to know that I had not stolen this idea from anyone. When I started writing it, no one else thought to do the same. Mine is a bit more original than the rest, because I know doing another point of view of an already-published novel provokes you to just give in to what is already written, but I made sure to add some of my own ideas into it That's what makes my story different from the rest of the Jace POV's.**

**For those wondering what [sic] is, I put it there on purpose. It's calling out the typographical and grammatical errors in the book, since I can't correct it as myself-.-only an aspiring writer while Clare has MUCH over me.**

**R&R por favor! :D**


	10. AN

**Hey, guys, forgot to tell you My goal is 10 reviews+**


	11. AN: Not-so-goodbye!

**Hey, guys, I'm just gonna say that this author's note is just closure for me. I was really popular on this site and I feel horrible every time I think back to the unfinished stories I put up here. I loved writing these play-offs, and-who knows-maybe in the future I can finish them.**

**It's just that now, three years later, I have moved on to bigger and better things. I'm still writing, but it's on a site called . I'm trying to publish my own story called "Teach Me to Love Again" about a girl named Anabelle Worth who is broken and hurt to the extent where she doesn't believe in love anymore. A boy named Will Connors tries to win over her affection because of a ****_dare_****, but instead does something far more for her by forcing her out of her comfort zone. In the meantime, he also has a secret he keeps from everyone. It's a story between two heartbroken teenagers who find healing in each other.**

**If you're interested in something like that, or want to keep reading more of my works, feel free to look for it under the author, "tellx3jenz."**

**Again, I'm really sorry. I loved writing for you guys, and I can continue to do so on Wattpad.**

**Not-so-goodbye!**


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